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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23324257">Once Upon a Time in Ancient Exandria</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfm/pseuds/tfm'>tfm</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, Action/Adventure, Adventure &amp; Romance, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Ancient History, Archaeology, Beau-Centric, Canonical Character Death, Explorer's Guide to Wildemount spoilers, F/F, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Light Angst, Linguistics, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Treasure Hunting</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 16:21:04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>123,190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23324257</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/tfm/pseuds/tfm</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>New Arc: The Soltryce Sting, or Caleb Widogast finds himself in the precarious position of having to plan a heist.</p><p>The Cerberus Assembly has the Beacon. Part-time librarian, member of the Kryn Resistance, and possible traitor Essek Thelyss would rather that they not have the Beacon. Caleb is interested in screwing over the Cerberus Assembly for other reasons.</p><p> </p><p>It's going to take a rag-tag team of unpredictable allies for either of them to get what they want (but what do they *really* want?)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Beauregard lionett &amp; yasha nydoorin &amp; mollymauk tealeaf, Caduceus Clay &amp; Fjord, Essek Thelyss &amp; Caleb Widogast, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, Fjord/Jester Lavorre, Jester Lavorre &amp; Beauregard Lionett, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Nott &amp; Caleb Widogast, Past Astrid/Caleb Widogast - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>218</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>370</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Beacon of Light (Part One)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Okay.</p><p>I have been working on this self-indulgent, vaguely Tomb Raider AU behemoth for months. More than likely, it will work a little differently to things that I've posted in the past. Each story arc will be comprised of one to three part "episodes" of six to ten thousand words each, with an overarching plot. This means that the update schedule will be a little more spread out compared to some previous stories.</p><p>All linguistic, historical and archaeological research has been dramatized due to this being a work of fiction and also because all I know is from a first year university linguistics elective I took ten years ago. So take things with a grain of salt.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>I – The Beacon of Light (Part One)</p><p> </p><p>Beauregard Lionett shielded her eyes against the sunlight.</p><p> </p><p>It was mid-afternoon; still early enough that the sun was high in the sky, and reflecting off the snow-capped peaks, even within the crumbling ruins that marked the temple entrance. Her sunglasses were next to useless, one of the (admittedly far too many) elements of her outfit that were built for form over function. They were made of cheap, fluorescent blue plastic, and had been a gift from Molly, after he had won them at an arcade claw machine.</p><p> </p><p>It was supposed to be a simple grab.</p><p> </p><p>At least, that was what Nott told her every time, and every time, Nott turned out to be a fucking liar. The last time Beau had gone on what was supposed to be a “simple grab,” she’d ended up handcuffed to a hospital bed deep in Xhorhasian territory with a broken ankle, and the ancient Zemnian vase she was supposed to be picking up was swiped out from under her by a shithead mercenary with a smirk on his face.</p><p> </p><p>This time, Caleb had spent a week helping her research the beacon that the mysterious Xhorhasian benefactor had hired them to locate. A beacon which the research had failed to indicate was nothing less than the entire basis of Xhorhasian religion.</p><p> </p><p>So yeah. Not a simple grab.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m gonna fucking kill her,’ Beau muttered. She had spent the last four hours taking down and translating the extensive Undercommon runes that spanned the walls of the ruin.</p><p> </p><p>She needed a shower.</p><p> </p><p>She needed a shower, a hot meal, and preferably, a nice hard fuck from someone she’d never see again, but so rarely these days did Beau get what she wanted.</p><p> </p><p>She hadn’t wanted, after all, to inherit her family’s Estate. Hadn’t asked for her parents to die in a mysterious plane crash (not, though, that she was complaining). Hadn’t asked for the ensuing legal battle over their antiquities collection, or the discovery of an ancient treasure map that followed.</p><p> </p><p>Still, she wasn’t going to lie; it was a pretty interesting life, traveling around the world, getting her hands dirty, reading up on history, and occasionally almost dying of a deadly illness that hadn’t existed in six thousand years. That had been a really fun one to explain to her insurance company, right before they had summarily denied her repatriation claim. Not that she needed it. The good thing about her parents having been assholes was that they had been rich assholes.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>You’re not talking about me, are you</em>?’ came Nott’s voice in her ear. Beau jumped. She somehow always forgot that they now had a functioning comms system, after going so long without one. In fact, Beau had gone so long without back-up that it still felt strange having people on her side, even if she was technically paying them. Though she had known Nott and Caleb for a while now, it had taken more time than she would have liked to convince them to work for her. Or work with her, depending on how you looked at it.</p><p> </p><p>‘You said it was just a fucking relic,’ Beau snarled. ‘You didn’t mention that it happened to be the thing that they actually <em>worship</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Hey, you’re the one that spent so much time in the library. I’m just the one that takes the missions, arranges for transport, books hotels, smooths things over with the local police—</em>’ Beau snorted. The last time that Nott had tried to “smooth things over” with the police in Vasselheim, Beau had spent eight days in a jail cell before Caleb had flown over with enough gold to pay them off and bail her out. As though it was her fault the dig site was being dug up by a legitimate government group.</p><p> </p><p>‘Let me talk to Caleb,’ Beau interjected, cutting off a rant that she, admittedly, had not actually been listening to.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>You can’t. He’s teaching right now</em>.’ Caleb taught Zemnian history to a group of very unenthusiastic young adults at the Zadash Community College three times a week. His former adviser had blacklisted him against every legitimate educational facility in the area, leaving him hanging in the wind. Beau had tried, against Caleb’s knowledge (and wishes) to slip some money into the right hands, but apparently Trent Ikithon was powerful enough that not even a shitton of gold was enough to get people to change their minds. ‘<em>Do you want me to tell you where the traps are, or do you want to find out when they chop your head off?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t an unfair question. More than once, Beau had tried to push through without giving the place a proper look-over, and had consequently had to dodge a boulder, or jump across a pit of spikes. Her upper torso was covered in small, circular scars from where tiny bolts had shot from the walls. One of Nott’s latest “acquisitions” (Beau didn’t even bother asking where the goblin had managed to find it) was a fucking fancy pair of goggles that could see in the dark, and, more importantly, see the hidden switches in the walls. It was the same type of camera that the Empire military was using, only theirs also had infrared and heat-sensing. Nott had played around with the goggles, so that everything Beau saw came up on the goblin’s screen back at the mansion.</p><p> </p><p>Beau took off her sunglasses, and put the goggles on.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>There’s a gap behind one of the walls. Could be a passageway. Left, just beside the pillar. You might be able to bypass the entrance altogether</em>.’ Beau turned her head to the left. It took her a few moments to spot the gap that Nott was talking about. The rest of the wall looked solid, but there was a small gap – a very fucking small gap – that Beau might be able to squeeze through.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m not a goblin y’know. I don’t think I’m gonna fit through there.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Please, you’re fucking tiny by human standards. Just think – there’s no way Yasha would be able to follow you down there.</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Beau rolled her eyes. She hadn’t seen any sign of Y-of Nydoorin. In all honesty, she wasn’t expecting Yasha to show up. This wasn’t exactly the other woman’s scene. Yasha tended to avoid the gigs that went too far into Empire territory. Unsurprising, given that she was from Xhorhas. The Empire tended to frown upon its own people pillaging tombs, let alone people from a warring nation.</p><p> </p><p>The fact that this was a Xhorhasian tomb, and that the Empire had systematically murdered all the Xhorhasians that had lived here was not a fact that escaped Beau’s notice. It was close enough to the (contested) border that there were still incursions, but well enough into the mountains that people tended not to come here anyway. It had taken Beau two days of hiking, plus one of climbing to even get to the entrance to the damn place. She didn’t give a flying fuck about the five thousand gold that their client had offered, but the access to Xhorhasian ruins was a boon that she couldn’t turn down.</p><p> </p><p>Beau stared at the wall. The text here didn’t look any different to any of the other writings in the room. This particular section spoke of how the Luxon had first brought light to Exandria. It had taken Beau a considerable time to translate properly, since the Kryn dialect of Undercommon used the same symbol for the Luxon that it did for the word light. The symbol was hexagonal in shape, with beams of what Beau assumed was light bursting from it. It was interesting; even though the two languages shared a common linguistic root, and had similar pronunciation, the symbol was entirely different to the same word in Elvish, or even Deep Speech, which scholars tended towards using the Elvish logograms for because it didn’t have its own writing system. It was fascinating stuff, but somehow even Caleb tended to get bored when she went on about it for a little while.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Maybe you could poke the light symbols</em>?’ Nott suggested in Beau’s ear. It wasn’t the worst suggestion in the world, but Beau was pretty sure it wouldn’t work. Nonetheless, she took her pencil, and poked each of the symbols in turn.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p> </p><p>Beau read over the text again, looking for anything that was out of place. It took several passes before she noticed that one of the symbols was slightly offset from the rest. It was barely off by a millimeter, but given how the rest of the text was near perfectly chiseled, it was definitely deliberate.</p><p> </p><p>She pressed the symbol again, this time with her hand. Still nothing. On a hunch, then, Beau grabbed the flashlight clipped to her belt, and shined it on the symbol. Behind the wall, there was a grinding noise. That segment of wall started to drop into the floor, leaving a hole that was barely the size of a manhole cover.</p><p> </p><p>Beau took a breath.</p><p> </p><p>She’d never been a particularly big fan of small spaces. It wasn’t the greatest fear to have when she spent half her waking hours going into tombs, and temples, and generally things that were almost entirely made up of small spaces. In boarding school, there had been a group of girls that, more than once, had locked Beau in a supply closet, or tried to shove her into a locker. While puberty hadn’t really done her any favors in terms of height, the bullying almost died off completely when she joined the wrestling team, and suplexed the next person that tried to grab her from behind. It had gotten her a month’s worth of detentions, but also the attention of an amateur MMA coach. By senior year, she was a pretty good wrestler, had her blue belt in Marquesian Jiu-Jitsu, and had a reasonably impressive KO streak on the kickboxing circuit.</p><p> </p><p>Not that any of that had done anything to make her parents acknowledge her existence beyond paying her school fees. In fact, the only reason she’d gotten anything after they’d died was because the only beneficiary named in their Wills – the younger brother she’d never met – had died in that same plane crash.</p><p> </p><p>Shivering slightly, Beau put her backpack between her legs, and maneuvered herself into the hole.</p><p> </p><p>...</p><p> </p><p>It took twenty minutes of crawling, falling and suppressing panic attacks for Beau to make it to the end of the “tunnel.” There were definitely a few moments where she was sure it hadn’t been a secret passageway at all, and she was just crawling through an oversized waste pipe, and would land in a pit of centuries old shit.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, that wasn’t the case. She landed heavily on crumbling stonework, jarring her bad knee. The whole leg was bad, if she was honest; rock climbing falls and sports injuries and on one terrible occasion, tripping while running from a blood-thirsty dire wolf. That incident was also the one where she got the horrific bite scar across her torso. Beau had only gotten out of that one alive thanks to Molly and Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>She tried not to think about them, as she shook herself off, and stared into the darkness. The goggles picked up a little bit, but not as much as a proper light source. For that, she needed her headlamp. She toggled the switch until it emitted a soft red light – enough for her to see, but not so much it ruined her dark vision.</p><p> </p><p>The tomb looked as though it had been untouched in centuries. Not surprising, really. It was deep in the mountains, and even then, not easy to find.  The Kryn weren’t the type of dynasty to put their sacred artifact in a place that was easy to get to.</p><p> </p><p>Even the tomb itself...Beau was pretty sure that she’d just found the back door, rather than actually going through it the way it was supposed to be done. She had probably bypassed dozens of traps, and puzzles, and snippets of language. Part of her actually felt a little upset about that; she was never one to miss an opportunity to learn more about history. Not that she’d ever tell Caleb that. So often, she made fun of him for being a nerd, as though she wasn’t cut from exactly the same cloth. Maybe, she could go out through the entrance, to try and pick up what she had missed.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey Nott,’ Beau whispered. She didn’t know why she was whispering. Actually, no, whispering was generally a pretty good course of action in places like this. More than once, she’d been a little too loud in a tomb, and either set off a trap, or awoken some things she really hadn’t meant to awaken.</p><p> </p><p>There was no response. Beau had half been expecting this; more often than not, the radio signal was unable to penetrate layers of stone and rock. Until she returned to the surface, she was on her own.</p><p> </p><p>It wouldn’t have been the first time. In all honesty, she was far more used to working alone than she was working with a team, even if working with a team had been...well, on the whole, safer.</p><p>Even with her headlamp, it was dark. The air down here was stale and stagnant, and gave her the very distinct impression that she might have been the first person down there in years. The first person down there at least since the end of the war, or the deposition of the Kryn Dynasty. Everything was coated in dirt and dust.</p><p> </p><p>Cautiously, Beau edged her way around the room. There was more writing on the walls, and even through the otherworldly light of the headlamp, she could tell that it had a strange glow to it. That said, the room in general was far less auspicious than Beau would have expected of the last known resting place of the Luxon Beacon. At least, that was what the writings outside the ruin had indicated.</p><p> </p><p>In its time, admittedly, it probably would have been more impressive. Beau was pretty sure the tunnel had led her, not deeper underground, but directly into the heart of the mountain. The ceilings were high enough that Beau suspected that there might once have been a skylight of sorts that had since been buried by snow and rock.</p><p> </p><p>The pedestal was in a position of prominence, in any case, positioned as though a beam of light should be shining upon it at all times.</p><p> </p><p>Now, though, there was just darkness.</p><p> </p><p>Even the beacon itself looked relatively passive. An old, dusty relic, sitting on a dusty pedestal.</p><p> </p><p>Beau took a step towards it.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p> </p><p>She took another step.</p><p> </p><p>Still nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Still cautious, Beau continued towards the beacon. Before even thinking about touching it, she examined the pedestal for traps, or levers, or anything that might kill her if she touched it.</p><p> </p><p>There was nothing.</p><p> </p><p>In a weird way, it made sense, and it was definitely something she had come across before. Cultures didn’t want to desecrate the most sacred of places with something so crass as a trap. On approach, sure, but in the room itself...nothing.</p><p> </p><p>Now that she was up close to it, Beau could see that the beacon was emitting a very soft, almost imperceptible glow. She turned her headlight off. In near total darkness, the glow was soft, and golden.</p><p> </p><p>It reminded her of the sun.</p><p> </p><p>Hand shaking, she reached out, and touched it. A searing pain hit her fingertips, and started to spread up Beau’s arm.</p><p> </p><p>She cried out in pain, and tried to yank her hand away. It wouldn’t move. It was as though her fingers were stuck to the beacon.</p><p> </p><p>White hot agony spread across her body, and she fell to her knees, the cries morphing quickly into a full-blown scream. All she could see was a white, bright light.</p><p> </p><p>And then…</p><p> </p><p>As quickly as it had started, it stopped. She was now resting her hand on the beacon, but did not feel that same pain. She pulled her hand away, and then...still cautiously, poked it with her flashlight (should have done that in the first place, idiot!). Nothing happened.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever the fuck the beacon had done to her, it hadn’t left any marks. Though the burning heat had been worse than fire, her hand was free from burns, or even scorch marks. Maybe it had been all in her head; the beacon’s last defense against thieves.</p><p> </p><p>Swearing, Beau pulled off her jacket. It was a military consignment thing that she’d picked up from somewhere or other years and years ago. Not worth anything at all, but there was a decent amount of sentimentality attached. She wasn’t going to go and use her camping equipment for this, though; if she went and got herself lost in the wilderness, then that would be of greater use. She threw the jacket over the beacon, and yanked it off the pedestal. Then, she tied the sleeves together.</p><p> </p><p>It could have been any dodecahedron stolen from a Kryn tomb. Certainly wasn’t one of their prized religious artifacts. Might have even been just a plain old basketball that she was for some reason lugging away from an ancient Xhorhasian temple in the middle of the Dunrock mountains.</p><p> </p><p>Beau opened the top of her backpack, and tried to shove it in. It took several minutes of reorganizing and repacking to fit the thing in there, and even then, she had to tie some of her cooking equipment to the outside of the pack.</p><p> </p><p>It was a long, uncomfortable journey back through the tunnel, and by the end of it, Beau’s bad leg was aching something fierce.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>-au, please tell me you can hear me</em>!’ Nott’s voice came through Beau’s earpiece suddenly, as she dropped unceremoniously to the crumbling stone floor. ‘<em>I picked up some radio chatter, there are soldiers coming up through the mountains, they’ll be there in an hour or so, you need to move </em>now!’</p><p> </p><p><em>Fuck</em>.</p><p> </p><p>When she’d agreed to take the job, the mysterious person (who refused to give their name, or even their affiliation) had hinted that there might be other parties interested in the Beacon. That was why they’d offered five thousand gold for her to go and find it.</p><p> </p><p>‘I hear you,’ Beau said, scrambling to her feet. She shook her leg out, to no avail. ‘Shit. Fuck. I got the beacon. Man, this stupid thing better be worth it. Is there another way through the mountains?’</p><p> </p><p>They had done no small amount of poring over satellite imagery in their planning for this mission. The route with the three-day trek through the mountains had been the <em>easy</em> option. Anything else was a five or a ten-day trek. If it was a choice between a long walk and a horrible death, though, Beau knew which option she’d take.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>That’s what I’ve been working on while you’ve been gallivanting around in tombs,</em>’ Nott said. Beau didn’t bother to correct her. There hadn’t actually been any bodies in the place, so it technically wasn’t even a tomb. Still, she couldn’t deny that “tomb” was a much catchier word than “archaeological site of historical significance.” Hells, even in her own head, she tended to use the term "Tomb" instead of "ruin" sometimes.</p><p> </p><p>Either way, she’d been to plenty both of tombs and otherwise important sites. Sometimes other archaeologists would be there, sometimes not. Mostly, they treated Beau as a bit of a joke. Not because she was somehow less educated or experienced, but because she had once had a very vocal altercation with one of the hosts of <em>Antiques Roadshow</em> that had gone viral on Youtube.</p><p> </p><p>Nott’s directions took Beau up over the cliff that the temple was built into. She didn’t bother getting out her climbing equipment; it would take too long to set up, and this was a situation where time was very much of the essence. It was only seventy or so feet high; definitely higher than she would have liked, but not so high that she couldn’t do it.</p><p> </p><p>The holds were precarious, and slick with ice. She had her climbing axe, but the ice was not so thick that it would have been of any use. It was the worst of both worlds.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was rounding the top of the cliff when she felt herself start to slip. Like she was just on the edge of sleep, and her whole body fell backwards to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>For a second, everything went black. Then, a shining white light burst through her head.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Scrambling, she reached her hand out for the next hold; if she could push herself up and over, then she would be safe.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Overhead, a bird screeched.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Her hand gripped the hold, slippery with sweat. She moved her leg up the wall, and pushed herself up. It was about then that the hold gave way.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>She fell backwards, screaming.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>The world came back in the blink of an eye.</p><p> </p><p><em>What the fuck</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was entirely sure she’d just had an out of body experience, clutched to the top of a fucking ice wall. She was so sure she had just died, had just fallen off a fucking cliff, only for the world to come rushing back to her.</p><p> </p><p>Overhead, a bird screeched.</p><p> </p><p>Hand shaking, she put moved it up the wall, to a different hold than the one she’d been planning on using. It held, and she managed to – whole body shaking, now – push herself up and over it.</p><p> </p><p>At the top of the wall, Beau gave herself five minutes. She had no idea what the fuck had just happened, except for the fact that she had almost died.</p><p> </p><p>Only she hadn’t almost died. She had almost, almost died, but then hadn’t. It was like she’d seen a vision of the future, telling her to go another way.</p><p> </p><p>She put her bag to the side, and lay down on her back. The sky was still impossibly blue, but she was sure if she looked to the horizon, she might see the first inklings of a beautiful orange sunset against the backdrop of snowcapped mountains.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey Nott?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>They’re thirty minutes off</em>,’ came Nott’s voice in her ear. ‘<em>They’re moving pretty fast.’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Moving fast, plus they probably had equipment that she didn’t. Like guns.</p><p> </p><p>A lot of the...archaeological site of historical significance explorers that Beau knew carried guns.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha carried a gun. Molly had carried a gun, right up until someone had used it on him.</p><p> </p><p>Beau had never in her life carried a gun.</p><p> </p><p>Not that she didn’t know how to use one. It was another one of those weird things that the Cobalt Soul Academy had offered, in addition to a wrestling team. In school, she’d learned how to shoot, how to ride a horse, how to build a fire in the fucking woods...It had been a weird place, entirely unlike what Beau would have thought boarding schools were supposed to be like. That might have been because it was a recruitment pool for a covert intelligence organization, but that was neither here nor there.</p><p> </p><p>So yeah, she could shoot a gun. She wasn’t a great shot with in – hell, <em>Nott</em> was a better shot than she was – but she knew how to do it. It was more that she trusted her own fists more than she trusted weapons.</p><p> </p><p>That was the thought that was running through her head right about the time the bullet tore through her.</p><p> </p><p>The silly thing was, she didn’t even realize it at first. She got to her feet, and readjusted the pack on her back, and frowned at the loud <em>crack</em> that rent the air. It took several moments to connect the sound with the sudden pain just above her knee, and the wetness that began dripping down her leg.</p><p> </p><p>Beau dropped to the ground, grimacing at the pain that shot through her when she did. At least it was the fucking bad leg.</p><p> </p><p>‘Nott!’ she hissed. ‘You said they were fucking <em>half an hour away!</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>They are!</em>’ Nott cried, over the radio. ‘<em>Why? Did you see them already?’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p><em>‘</em>No, they just fucking shot me!’ Fuck. Fuckfuckfuckfuck. Beau dragged herself across the top of the cliff. She didn’t know where the sniper – it had to be a sniper, at this distance – was, but she knew that she was far too exposed to stand. If she didn’t keep moving, though, whoever the fuck had shot her would finish the job.</p><p> </p><p>Not that they were going to have much trouble anyway.  Her leg was bleeding enough that she didn’t get it wrapped soon, it was going to leave a trail. That, and the whole “significant blood loss” thing.</p><p> </p><p>Yeah, that was a pretty big problem.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Holy shit, are you okay?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Beau could have laughed. ‘I’ll tell you once I figure that out.’</p><p> </p><p>When she was on the other side of the ridge, out of sight of any scopes from the approach to the temple, Beau took stock.</p><p> </p><p>There was good news, and there was bad news.</p><p> </p><p>The good news was, she had mostly been winged. The bullet had torn through her lower thigh, and missed anything that would have done real damage. Most importantly, it had missed the artery, which would have been a death sentence regardless of how close to civilization she was.</p><p> </p><p>The bad news was, she had still been fucking shot. It was a rifle round, which meant it had left a pretty decent sized wound. The bullet itself had gone through her leg like butter, and probably embedded itself in the rock or among the trees somewhere.</p><p> </p><p>‘Doesn’t look too bad.’ She was talking to Nott as much as she was to herself. Of course, there was a difference between “not too bad” and “able to be walked on for three days straight.”</p><p> </p><p>Beau went to her backpack, and dug through it until she found the first aid kit. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to dress a bullet wound while in the field. There wasn’t time to have a full stitch-up and wound clean. For the moment, she needed to bandage it, and get the fuck away from here as quickly as possible.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Caleb just got home.</em>’ Beau wasn’t sure what response she had expected from Nott, but it certainly wasn’t that. ‘<em>I’m going to get him up to speed, and we can come up with a plan, but in the meantime—</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, yeah, keep moving,’ Beau muttered. After winding the bandage around her leg tightly, she pulled herself to her feet. It hurt like a fucking bitch, but she could handle pain. Definitely a lot better than she could handle small spaces.</p><p> </p><p>It was slow going.</p><p> </p><p>Normally, Beau was pretty fast on foot. Fast to the point where she often eschewed four-legged assistance in getting to some dig sites, because she honestly preferred doing it herself. Today, though, she wasn’t very fast.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t just the bullet wound. It had been a long as fuck day that had started near sunrise in the shadow of one of the smaller mountain peaks. She was just glad that these peaks were far enough below the snow line that there was still vegetation, even if a lot of the trees had lost their leaves for the winter.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Okay</em>.’ After what felt like an age, Beau finally head Nott’s voice in her ear. She had made it almost a couple of miles through skeleton trees, adrenaline doing its best to stop her from screaming in pain. ‘<em>We have a plan. How long do you think you could stay hidden for?’</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Immediately, Beau was not a fan of this plan. She wasn’t a hider. She was a fighter, and occasionally a runner, but never a hider. She would have vastly preferred to track down whoever had shot her, and take the fight to them, but that was a bad idea for two reasons: one, she had been fucking <em>shot</em>, and had lost a decent amount of blood, and two: anyone converging on this temple clearly wanted the Beacon, so absolutely the last thing she should do was walk it right up to them.</p><p> </p><p>‘No fucking clue,’ Beau admitted. She had a decent amount of food and water still, though she had been planning on being able to pick up a food drop on the way back down through the mountains. Some of the stuff she still had needed to be heated up, but there was a shitton of jerky, so she’d at the very least survive, even if it was a very bland way to stay satiated.</p><p> </p><p>The hardest part would be finding somewhere to hide.</p><p> </p><p>But, Beau was pretty sure she could do it. Mountains like these had plenty of nooks and crannies to hide in; caves, and trees, and boulders, all viable options. She wouldn’t like it, but she could do it. Maybe if she was holed up for a couple of days, she’d be able to take a closer look at the Beacon, maybe go over some of her notes.</p><p> </p><p>‘Any sign of them coming this way?’ Beau asked.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Well, there’s been nothing on the radio for a while, so they’re probably in the temple. I wanted to try and hack a satellite to see if we could see them, but Caleb said no.</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Beau suppressed a snort. The chances of there actually being a satellite pointed in the right direction were slim to none, but she appreciated Nott’s enthusiasm just the same. The crux of it was, she might have a couple of hours at least to get away from regular soldiers, but a sniper – the sniper that had seen her come this way, and suspected she had the Beacon – well, she might have considerably less time to get away from the sniper.</p><p> </p><p>‘So, what’s your plan?’ Beau grunted, as she clambered up a rock wall.  Her best bet would be a cave of some sort, she figured. Luckily, being in the mountains, there was no shortage of caves.</p><p> </p><p>There was a pause on the other end of the line. Beau didn’t notice it at first; given that Nott was almost a thousand miles away in Kamordah, there was no shortage of lag on the line.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>You’re not going to like it</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau laughed. She wasn’t sure she’d like it any less than trekking through the mountains with a busted leg, hiding from soldiers and snipers, all to get a sacred religious artifact back to its people. ‘I guarantee that it cannot be worse than what’s already happening.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I called Yasha.</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Motherfucker.</p><p> </p><p>Godsdamnit. Running, she was used to. Hiding, she could just about stomach. But bringing in help? Worse than that. Bringing in <em>Yasha</em>. Beau briefly considered whether she’d prefer to chance it on foot herself.</p><p> </p><p>‘What the fuck, Nott?’ Beau demanded, hissing as though someone might hear her. ‘Why the fuck would you think <em>Yasha </em>would be of any help?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Well, she used to be a paratrooper,</em>’ Nott said, as though the question hadn’t been rhetorical. ‘A<em>nd, she has access to all those government resources...And she’s beaten you to the last three artifacts we’ve gone for...</em>’ She trailed off, and Beau had to admit, yeah, those were all probably very good reasons to have called Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>It did bring up an interesting point, though, one that Beau ruminated as she squeezed through a very tight gap into a cave. Why on Exandria had the person that had hired her not just hired Yasha instead? Because Nott was right; this <em>was</em> the sort of job that Yasha’s skills were far better suited for. Not that Beau was necessarily useless. She was just – and she fucking hated to admit this part – better at the nerdy side of shit than the “survive for long periods of time in the wilderness” shit. She was the sort of person that spent four days in the library, rather than four days living out of a pack. She was far more at home neck-deep in notes about stone fragments, than neck-deep in muddy quagmires.</p><p> </p><p>‘Ugh,’ Beau said, staring at the rock wall inches from her face.</p><p> </p><p>The cave was way too small, and the ventilation fucking <em>sucked</em>. Beau squeezed her way back out (<em>fuckingowowow</em>), and kept searching. The blood, she could feel, had soaked through the bandage, but she did not have time to stop and reapply it. As long as it didn’t start dripping as she walked, it would be okay.</p><p> </p><p>Well, maybe not okay, but...you know, alive.</p><p> </p><p>Beau took another step forward, and without warning, her mind seemed to pull back from her body.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>A few more miles through the forest, up another small cliff, a small opening in the side of the mountain.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Somewhere she could sit tight for hours – maybe days, or even weeks – waiting for help to arrive.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>It would not be comfortable, but it would be safe.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The world returned in a flash, and Beau fell to her knees, gasping.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>What the fuck?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>It had happened again; the same thing that had happened when she’d almost fallen off the cliff. A vision of...a vision of something. The future, sort of. Though the vision she’d gotten the first time around hadn’t been something that had actually happened. Just something that could have happened.</p><p> </p><p>This vision had been more of a direction. Showing her what path to take.</p><p> </p><p>Was this something to do with the Beacon?</p><p> </p><p>There was something, she was sure, in her pages and pages of rambling notes, about the Luxon being used to affect time in some way. When first reading it, Beau had scoffed. She had seen a lot of weird shit in her time, but nothing that she would have considered outside the realm of possibility.</p><p> </p><p>It had saved her the first time. Maybe it could help her a second time.</p><p> </p><p>Beau pushed on, fire burning in her leg. The fact that she could still feel it was a good thing. It was when she couldn’t feel it that she’d have to start worrying. The sky was starting to darken; if she kept going much longer, she would be pushing into dusk. The last thing she wanted was to be running from these soldiers through the night.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey Nott,’ Beau said, after a few more minutes of light running. ‘Could you get Caleb to look into some stuff for me?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I am right here, Beauregard</em>,’ came Caleb’s voice in her ear. Beau started. She knew that Caleb had been with Nott. She didn’t realize he’d been wired in the entire time.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck, Caleb, warn a girl,’ Beau muttered.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I did not realize my presence was such a discomfort to you</em>.’ There was a wry sort of humor in his voice. They both knew it was the opposite. She’d never expected to become such good friends with a person that she’d spent six hours arguing with in an art historian’s office over the provenance of a bowl that she’d found on an excursion, almost two years ago. Admittedly, by that point in their relationship, they had already been reasonably close.</p><p> </p><p>‘Sorry, I’m a little jumpy right now, funnily enough.’ Her voice was getting slower, and more tired. It would be so nice to just lie down and have a nap, but that was pretty much a death sentence.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>That is understandable</em>.<em> Is there something that I need your help with? Nott has already called Yasha. I believe it may be too soon for an update.</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Beau chose to ignore that last bit. ‘Do you remember when we were doing all that reading, and you showed me that stuff about the thing?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ja, Beauregard, that is not vague at all.’</em></p><p> </p><p>‘The Beacon!’ she said, angrily, a little louder than she probably should have.  The stress of the situation was making her more than a little testy. ‘The bit about the stuff with time, and probability.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I remember.</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘Can you do a bit more reading – see if there’s anything in there about having visions of the future, or seeing different...’ Beau paused. She wasn’t quite sure how to explain it. <em>Different realities? </em>No, that wasn’t quite right. ‘Possible futures.’</p><p> </p><p>There was another long pause. ‘<em>Did something happen?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘A whole fucking lot of shit happened!’ Beau yelled. The terrain dipped suddenly into a small valley, and she started slowly edging her way down. She was heading in the direction that the vision had told her to go. She wasn’t particularly enthused about the idea of following a vision from a mysterious religious artifact, but there weren’t exactly a lot of options.</p><p> </p><p>She put a foot down, carefully, and when it held, put a bit more weight on it. The extra weight was just a bit too much, and Beau felt her body crumble beneath her, as she slipped, rolled, and skidded down the slope.</p><p> </p><p>She put out an arm to stop herself from rolling, and just barely managed to grab onto a tree root. Her leg had left a smear of blood along the dirt, and was throbbing with renewed pain.</p><p> </p><p>‘Shit<em>,</em>’ Beau muttered. ‘I’m okay,’ she said. There was a long silence that she absolutely did not like the sound of. Then, she realized that the earpiece was no longer in her ear. It was on the ground, and had more than a few important looking wires sticking out of it. ‘Fuck. Nott, Caleb, can you hear me?’ She held the earpiece up to her ear.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing.</p><p> </p><p>The Beacon hadn’t warned her about that one. It was strange, to warn her about some things, but not others. She had figured if it was omniscient, it would have been...well, omniscient about everything. Apparently not.</p><p> </p><p>It didn’t change the plan. Get to a cave. Hunker down. Wait for help to arrive.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, now that her only method of communication was ruined, that might be a little harder. She still had a GPS tracker that hopefully worked, but there was no way of knowing whether it did until the point where help actually showed up.</p><p> </p><p>Either way, she needed to find shelter, if only to attend to her leg, and to let herself rest.</p><p> </p><p>The sky was a brilliant orange, now; not long, and the mountains would be in total darkness.</p><p> </p><p>It took another half an hour to reach the spot where she’d seen the cave in her vision, and another ten minutes on top of that to actually find it. It was pretty well hidden, if she was honest; obscured by the hollow trunk of a dead tree, covered by a curtain of ivy. She didn’t even know why there was fucking ivy growing in these mountains.</p><p> </p><p>The cave itself was not large. A little bigger than the last one had been; maybe the size of a small bathroom, rather than a toilet cubicle. The air flow was a lot better, though, which was the important thing.</p><p> </p><p>Beau squeezed in, and immediately collapsed onto the rocky ground. ‘Fuck this day,’ she said, to no-one in particular.</p><p> </p><p>Her leg was fucking killing her. Her leg, and her head, and her whole godsdamned body. She just wanted to lie down, and fucking sleep, but there were a few things she needed to do first.</p><p> </p><p>Number one: drink some water.</p><p> </p><p>Until she stopped moving, she hadn’t noticed just how thirsty she was, how dry and swollen her tongue and throat were. She grabbed her canteen, and took a very long swig.</p><p> </p><p>There were two large bottles of water in her pack, which would apparently now have to last for a good few more days. If all else failed, there were definitely water sources in these mountains; she’d had to cross more than a couple of streams on her way up here. Cold, burbling things that just days ago she’d seen as an inconvenience. Now, it would have been very welcome to take a long dip in the fresh mountain water.</p><p> </p><p>Number two: fix the fucking leg.</p><p> </p><p>The first lot of bandages was soaked with blood. Really, she should have used a tourniquet, but that would have made her slow progress even slower. Now, her priority was to put pressure on the wound, and stop the bleeding. If it <em>didn’t</em> stop, <em>then</em>, she’d probably have to look at using a tourniquet.</p><p> </p><p>Once she’d re-wrapped the wound, Beau lifted the leg on top of a rock that was at least as large as she was. On the whole, she would have preferred her nice, comfortable king-sized bed in Kamordah, with it’s fluffed up pillows, and roaring fireplace. At a stretch, she would have taken the lumpy top bunk mattress she’d spent five years on at the Cobalt Soul Academy. This, at least, was probably better than a hole in the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Number three: eat some fucking jerky.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was not particularly in the mood for dried meats, but there was precious little else she had that didn’t involve starting a fire to heat something up. Jerky, nuts, and dried fruit. Not a terrible meal, but not nearly as appealing as pizza, or a hamburger. To round it all off, she took a couple of over-the-counter painkillers. Not nearly enough to compensate for the throbbing agony that was now her leg, but just enough to take the edge off a little.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Gods she wished she had some booze.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Beau adjusted her leg on top of the rock, and tried to get as comfortable as possible. She could probably get away with closing her eyes and taking a rest.</p><p> </p><p>Just for a few minutes.</p><p>
  
</p><p>Beau woke up shivering.</p><p> </p><p>It could have been five minutes later, or an hour later, or a day later. She didn’t feel any better than she had when she’d first gone to sleep. Her leg was throbbing, but thankfully, it hadn’t quite bled through the new bandages just yet.</p><p> </p><p>That was something. Beau pulled herself up, and started digging through her pack for extra clothes. Her hand touched on her jacket, and she remembered that she had used it to wrap up the Beacon.</p><p> </p><p>Shit. No wonder she was cold.</p><p> </p><p>Well, now, she needed it more than the Beacon did. It wasn’t super thick, but it could be the difference between life and death.</p><p> </p><p>It took far more effort than it should have to get the jacket off the Beacon, and wrangle it over her shoulders.</p><p> </p><p>The Beacon itself was glowing. It was warm, and it was glowing. Beau reached a shaking finger out, and touched it.</p><p> </p><p>This time, she didn’t feel any pain.</p><p> </p><p>A strange warmth spread through her, but nothing else happened. She didn’t feel quite so cold anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Not quite as good as a fire, but probably the best she could hope for, given the circumstances. Beau wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about the idea of Yasha coming to her rescue, but in any case, it would be days before she could get out of there, and the last thing she needed was to die of fucking hypothermia. What a shitty way to go, after everything in her life that had happened. She’d been beaten, shot, tortured...she’d fallen into ravines, been caught in explosions and earthquakes. It would really suck if she finally died just because she got a little too cold.</p><p> </p><p>Molly would never let her live it down, but hey, at least she’d get to <em>see</em> Molly again.</p><p> </p><p>She stared at the Beacon, fascinated by it. It was…comforting. Like a friend in the darkness. It seemed to have a mind of its own. It almost felt like it was trying to tell her something.</p><p> </p><p>‘What do you need?’ she murmured. ‘Where do you need to go?’ The light flickered slightly, but that was it. If the beacon had any answers for her (and if she wasn’t actually hallucinating) then it wasn’t ready to give them just yet.</p><p> </p><p>It was with that thought that Beau closed her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>If nothing else, then maybe she could get some sleep.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Beacon of Light (Part Two)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>II – The Beacon of Light (Part Two)</p><p> </p><p>Three Hours Earlier</p><p> </p><p>Zadash Community College</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Of the original Magic schools of the world, Dunamancy remains the one most clouded in mystery. Even at the height of the Age of Arcanum, the manipulation of gravity and time was practiced only by the inner denizens of the Kryn Court in their rebellion against the Betrayer Gods.     </em>
</p><p> </p><p><em>The School of Enchantment</em>—</p><p> </p><p>Caleb Widogast closed the book with a snap, and put it on the pile of books that he was now finished with. Of the two piles, it was the considerably larger one. The books that had the barest sliver of information on Dunamancy, but nowhere near the sort of detail that he was looking for.</p><p> </p><p>It was the same for the other thirty-two books he had looked at so far today. It was to be expected; outside of the Cobalt Soul, he did not expect anywhere in the Empire to have what he was looking for. Even the Cobalt Soul, though, would not have the kind of detail that a library in Xhorhas, for example, would have. If he wanted to visit the Soul library, he would have to wait for Beauregard to return. While Beauregard had introduced him to Dairon, he did not think that the elf was overly enamored with him, and they definitely would not let him into their very old, very secretive library on his own.</p><p> </p><p>In the silence of the library, his phone buzzed. It was an old phone; not quite as old as his car, but a great deal older than almost anything else that he owned. It still had buttons that you could press, at any rate. He had been resistant to the idea of even getting a phone, but the faculty administrative assistants were getting very fed up with passing on Nott’s very convoluted (and frequently redacted) messages.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Beau’s going in the field, need your help</em>,’ the message read. Caleb swore. He had known, of course, that Beauregard would be reaching the temple today, but had been distracted by all of the other things that his mind was working on.</p><p> </p><p>Taking note of the book that he was up to, he crammed all of his own papers and notebooks into his back, and started hurriedly piling the books back onto the return trolley. Normally, he would shelve them himself, making sure that all the books were in the correct decimal order, but today he was in a bit of a time crunch.</p><p> </p><p>The new librarian – a tall, dark-skinned drow with silvery-white hair, and a look that Caleb almost would have described as haughty – gave him a nod. Then, almost casually, violet eyes scanned over the titles on the return trolley. An eyebrow rose.</p><p> </p><p>‘Are you researching something specific, Mister Widogast?’ The accent was vaguely Xhorhasian, but Caleb was not quite familiar enough with the country to be able to determine a specific region. More than likely, he was from Rosohna – most of the drow were – but Caleb didn’t want to assume. They had had a dozen conversations, but none that had progressed beyond the “what can I help you with today” stage.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Nein</em>,’ Caleb said, with a small smile. The lie came easily. ‘Just general background reading today, Herr Theylas.’</p><p> </p><p>The study of Dunamancy was not strictly illegal (not in the way that the worship of anything but the approved deities was illegal) but Caleb was still disinclined to tell people what he was reading about. Where the study of it was not illegal, the practice of it definitely was. Not that there were many people around with the skill to practice it. Essek, of all people, would probably be able to help, but Caleb did not want to bring anyone else in on what was, at the moment, a three-person club, the other two of whom were admittedly not quite as invested as himself.</p><p> </p><p>‘I will see you again tomorrow, then.’ Theylas raised another eyebrow, but this one was amused, rather than curious. At this stage, he knew Caleb’s habits well enough to know that he would return to the library the next day to continue reading. ‘Not that ah, I do not enjoy your visits, but you are aware that you can check books out, do you not?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ja</em>, I am aware.’ It wasn’t that Caleb didn’t want to take the books home. In fact, he would much prefer to take them with him. He did not think, however, that leaving a trail of his searches for Trent Ikithon to follow would be a wise move, regardless of what name he went by now. Ikithon was the sort of person to track any anomalies like a spike in the interest of esoteric magics.</p><p> </p><p>With one last small wave goodbye, Caleb slung his bag over his shoulder, and left the library. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Essek wave back.</p><p> </p><p>His car was parked in one of the lower lots. Even as a faculty member, he was not exempt from paying the college’s exorbitant parking fees, and even though Beau had offered a hundred times to buy him a premium parking pass that would let him park in the upper lots, Caleb had steadfastly declined. It was bad enough that she insisted on paying him a salary, and, were it not for the cost of the rare ink and paper required to complete spell research, he might have been able to afford the parking pass on his own.</p><p> </p><p>Being the middle of the day, traffic was not too bad. The drive from Zadash to Kamordah was not an unpleasant one, passing through the outer limits of the city, then farmland, then rolling hills. After that point, the landscape seemed to change, and the hills became rust colored, and occasionally, if you were lucky, you could see a geyser burst in the distance.</p><p> </p><p>The petrol marker was well below a quarter, but that didn’t mean much. The thing had been broken for quite some time, and Caleb hadn’t bothered to get it fixed. It was easier to count the distance on the odometer to determine when he would need to fill the tank, which was often. The car was old, and did not get anywhere near as good mileage as Nott’s Hummer or even Beau’s motorcycle.</p><p> </p><p>Still, it got him where he needed to go, and it kept him well enough under the radar that people didn’t ask questions about the ratty looking professor with his very old car, which was exactly the way he liked it. The driveway of the Lionett Estate was long enough, and enclosed enough that not even the neighbors complained.</p><p> </p><p>The house, when he reached it, was quiet, but that was not unusual. It was just the three of them living there, and even with servants, Caleb could wander around for an hour without seeing another soul. He recalled his childhood, where he had lived in a small, ramshackle house constantly on the verge of collapse. It was the main reason he had joined the Soltryce Academy, to make sure his parents were not burdened with the struggle of having to feed three people. This sort of excess…made him a little uncomfortable. He was fairly certain that it made Beau uncomfortable too, but she had not yet managed to find the courage to take the plunge of selling the place. It had been six years since the death of her parents, but only six months since the legal proceedings had been finalized.</p><p> </p><p>His house was gone, now.</p><p> </p><p>Blumenthal and the Zemni Fields were also a thing of the past, both well incorporated into the behemoth of a megacity that was Rexxentrum. Though he had not been there in some time, he knew that the ruins of his old house had been knocked down, and a shopping mall stood in its stead. Not the most auspicious of destinies.</p><p> </p><p>The car looked very out of place in the driveway surrounded by well-manicured gardens. Whenever Jester came to visit, she took great pleasure in drawing dicks in the dust of his windscreen. Caleb often left it dirty, just so he could see “der Schwarzer” written in Jester’s very poor Zemnian. He had stopped just short of correcting her grammar.</p><p> </p><p>Inside the manor, things were in full swing.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb had arranged his day carefully, planning to get home before Beauregard made the final run onto the temple. She must have decided to go early, though, because when he stepped into the room (a spare bedroom with several laptops and sheet-covered furniture) things were already in full swing. Beau kept talking about turning it into an actual functioning operations room, but somehow, they hadn’t gotten around to it.</p><p> </p><p>On seeing him, Nott slipped off her headset, and rushed to give Caleb a hug.</p><p> </p><p>‘How is she?’ he asked, gesturing towards the main computer.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, you know. As charming as usual.’ Nott’s voice with layered with no small amount of sarcasm. ‘You know how snappy she gets on the radios.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ja</em>, she is not a big fan of being told what to do,’ Caleb mused, not entirely focused on the situation at hand. He was instead staring at the maps of the Dunrock Mountains, and the blueprints of the ruin that Nott had up on screen.</p><p> </p><p>‘There are some soldiers that are on her trail, though I don’t think <em>they</em> actually realize that she’s there. They’re probably after the artefact, which is apparently really, really important in their religion.’</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> was worrying news. Other treasure hunters were easy enough to deal with, since for the most part, they were all on the same wrong side of the law. Soldiers, though…Especially if they were the soldiers that Caleb feared they were…That could end badly.</p><p> </p><p>‘Where are these soldiers?’</p><p> </p><p>Nott pointed a stubby green finger to a point on the map. It was well into the mountains, and looked like very difficult terrain. It was no wonder it had taken Beau so long to get up there. It wasn’t an exact guess, Caleb knew. Nott could pinpoint a general location by triangling radio signals, but without real-time satellite confirmation, it was anyone’s guess.</p><p> </p><p>‘And where is Beauregard?’</p><p>
  
</p><p>Nott pointed a little further north on the map. That one at least, was a more accurate reading, since Beau carried a Personal Locator Beacon. If nothing else, then they would at least be able to keep tabs on where she was.</p><p> </p><p>‘Plus,’ Nott added, in a guilty sort of voice. ‘She also got shot. Still trying to figure out by who.’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb stared at her.</p><p> </p><p>‘I probably should have led with that one, huh?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ja,</em>’ he agreed. ‘You probably should have.’</p><p> </p><p>‘She says it’s mostly a flesh wound.’ Nott was once more staring at the screen, trying to find another way through the mountains. ‘Anyway, she could still swear at me at least.’</p><p> </p><p>It was something, at least. But “shot” was never good news. ‘Who do you think they may be?’ It was not a question that he was expecting Nott to be able to answer.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, who are our enemies?’ Nott asked. She did not seem to have meant it as a sarcastic question, but it somehow came off that way anyway. Because she was right. Both before and after starting to work with Beauregard, they all had a reasonably sized list of enemies. More than zero, at least, which was the number that most normal people seemed to have.</p><p> </p><p>There was Gelidon, a crime boss who operated in Mythburrow, in the Greying Wildlands. Most people only knew her as the White Dragon, and she had been very displeased about the heist that had been pulled under her nose not six months ago.</p><p> </p><p>Then, there was Isharnai. That one had been for Nott, and the fact that Jester was with them that time was the only reason they’d all made it out of there alive.</p><p> </p><p>Plus, there was Ikithon, and the goblin tribe that had cursed Nott, and all of those other people that hadn’t necessarily made it into casual conversation just quite yet.</p><p> </p><p>It seemed likely that the soldiers were also responsible for the shooting. Otherwise, there were two different parties in the mountains to take into consideration. They all certainly would have had the resources, but <em>why</em> was the important question.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb’s first – and only – thought was of the Beacon. The person who had hired them did seem very cagey about the whole thing, very insistent that they go after the Beacon as quickly as possible, that there were other interested parties.</p><p> </p><p>The details of that, though, would be a question for later. Right now, their first priority was to make sure that Beauregard came home safely. Without any method of communicating, it would be difficult.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you have a plan yet?’ Caleb asked. He knew better than to think that Nott had been waiting for him to get home to start working on what to do. She was generally very good with plans, even if a disproportionate amount of them seemed to involve blowing things up.</p><p> </p><p>‘I did have a thought, but I don’t think Beau would like it.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I think she would prefer whatever plan you have to being dead.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well…’ Nott hesitated. ‘Remember when we were planning this operation, and I said “gee, I think Yasha would be really helpful right now” and Beau told me to go fuck myself?’</p><p> </p><p>‘That does sound vaguely familiar, <em>ja</em>,’ Caleb said, drily.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, I think we should call Yasha.’ Nott looked at him nervously, as she waited for a response. ‘She’s clearly got the most experience in this sort of situation, and I don’t know anyone else that goes and camps in the middle of nowhere for <em>fun</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb considered the suggestion. They were beyond the point of making suggestions based on whether or not they would hurt someone’s feelings. Contacting Yasha did seem as though it would be the most practical option.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ja,</em>’ he said. ‘I agree.’ It would certainly be a better way to do it than either him or Nott trying to parachute in for a rescue. More likely, if they tried, there would be three of them dead, rather than just one. Yasha was highly experienced in the art of survival in remote places.</p><p> </p><p>There was a beat of silence.</p><p> </p><p>‘So, I should call her?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ja,</em> I think so.’</p><p> </p><p>Another beat.</p><p> </p><p>‘You know, she kind of terrifies me.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Me too,’ Caleb admitted. He did not know Yasha very well. Certainly not nearly as well as Beauregard did. Yasha was six feet tall, with biceps roughly the size of Nott’s head. She rarely smiled, and when she spoke, it was in a soft voice that was somehow more threatening than the loudest of yells.</p><p> </p><p>For all that he was apprehensive, he also quite liked the other woman. She reminded him of himself in some ways. At least reminded him of the himself that he could have been.</p><p> </p><p>Nott pulled out her flask, and took a very long swig. ‘Alright,’ she said. ‘I’ll make the call.’</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>To say Nott was worried was an understatement.</p><p> </p><p>She’d been worried before, of course. Every day, she worried about Yeza. She worried every time Beau went out into the field. She worried every time Caleb made the two-hour drive from Kamordah to Zadash in his beat-up car that only started five times out of ten, and veered to the left when it went above fifty miles an hour.</p><p> </p><p>She’d been worried the time that she and Caleb had been stuck in a prison cell deep on Darktow Isle, after getting on the wrong side of a group of rogue pirates. It was only with the help of a foul-mouthed, abrasive, trash-talking archaeologist that they’d manage to escape. As far as first meetings went, it had been a pretty memorable one. After they returned to civilization, Beau had offered them both a job. Caleb had been somewhat hesitant until he saw the library that he would have access to. <em>That</em> had him blindly signing both his life and Nott’s away without question.</p><p> </p><p>It had been a pretty good deal, all things considered. It had taken Beau almost a year of knowing them before she explained why she had more money than any delinquent, twenty-something college dropout should have, and another one year after that before she admitted that she hadn’t actually dropped out, but had graduated <em>magna cum laude </em>in Archaeology and Linguistics, a phrase that Nott had absolutely no idea the meaning of, but was apparently very impressive. Caleb was impressed, at least. Surprised, but impressed.</p><p> </p><p>So, if Beau died, then whatever life they’d built up here was over. Not that that was anything compared to the thought of losing a friend.</p><p> </p><p>It was funny; even after how badly everything had ended, Yasha had not even hesitated before agreeing to help.</p><p> </p><p>Unlike Beau, Yasha worked alone.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t have a voice in her ear, or people on the ground, or contacts in every port. She did everything herself, from the initial research, to the collection and the extraction.</p><p> </p><p>It hadn’t always been that way, Nott knew. Until Molly’s death, he and Yasha had worked together. Until Molly’s death, <em>Beau</em> and Yasha and Molly had worked together. It was Molly’s death that had broken them apart the first time.</p><p> </p><p>Nott still didn’t know the full story; months upon months of wheedling had failed to get any significant details from either Yasha or Beau. Molly had been shot point blank in the chest by an antiquities smuggler named Lorenzo, and that was all either of them were willing to say on the matter. Beau had come close to letting some things slip while drunk a few times, so Nott was sure she would get the full story eventually. In any case, the story seemed to involve both of them blaming themselves, and refusing to hear anything that suggested otherwise.</p><p> </p><p>Nott, frankly, thought it was stupid.</p><p> </p><p>She would have done almost anything in the world to be with Yeza again, and yet the world kept conspiring to keep them apart. If she’d had the chance…</p><p> </p><p>Nott sighed.</p><p> </p><p>She put on her headset, and went back to listening to radio chatter.</p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Caleb did what he always did when this sort of thing happened.</p><p> </p><p>He went downstairs to the library. Beau had asked him to clarify some properties of the Beacon, but Caleb also had his own list of things he wanted to research, even if it was a list that the rest of them were not quite privy to. He didn’t mention that ever since first looking into the subject, he had done no small amount of his own research. Most of that had been at the school library, but he knew that Beauregard had “liberated” some books from the Cobalt Soul library that she was using for her own research.</p><p> </p><p>The library was not small, however, most of it was devoted to topics on which Caleb had little interest; there was a very large section on gardening, for some reason, which he supposed had belonged to Beauregard’s parents.</p><p> </p><p>Beau’s notes on the beacon were…disorganized, to say the least. Though he would never tell her as much, Caleb always marveled at how she always managed to dig up the most obscure bits of information, in spite of her less than stellar filing system. According to her university transcripts (that Nott had, against Caleb’s advised, “retrieved” from the University network), Beau had taken some electives in library science. Most librarians that Caleb met would have fainted if they ever saw how she treated books.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Mein gott</em>,’ he muttered, as he read through one of her journals. It wasn’t her main journal (which she refused to let anyone touch), but it was one of the ones that she took with her when doing research.</p><p> </p><p>It was, in a word, dense.</p><p> </p><p>While Beau was an unexpectedly excellent researcher, she didn’t have Caleb’s reading speed, not his ability to retain every piece of information that he had ever read.</p><p> </p><p>This meant that she took notes about <em>everything</em>. Every single thing she read about, or heard about, or looked into, was written down in her journals. The sheer magnitude of the information meant that it was all written in some form of code. Or shorthand. But it was nothing like any shorthand that Caleb had ever used. It would take some time to decode the notes.</p><p> </p><p>Or, it might even be easier just to research it all from scratch, using a record that was much, much easier to decode. Decoding the notes of a linguistics major was a stretch, even for a genius. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. Hopefully, Yasha would be able to track Beau down in the heart of the Dunrock Mountains, and help bring her home safely.</p><p> </p><p>If that didn’t happen…well, it would be problematic. They would have to leave the house (which, admittedly, was no huge loss), and return to live in Zadash, or, more likely, somewhere much cheaper. An adjunct professor at a Community College, and a reformed black-hat hacker did not make a great deal of money. If this all fell apart, then Nott would probably go back to her more legally dubious activities, which was something that Caleb wanted to avoid, if at all possible.</p><p> </p><p>Plus, more devastatingly, he would have lost a friend, even if it had taken him a very long time to be able to use that word without hesitation. He did not make friends easily.</p><p> </p><p>Well, that wasn’t entirely true.</p><p> </p><p>Once upon a time, he had made friends easily. Once upon a time, in a small town called Blumenthal, he had had two very good friends. A bright, cunning girl, and a strong, powerful boy. Then, everything had changed, so slowly, and yet so quickly.</p><p> </p><p>It took a long time for him to trust anyone again.</p><p> </p><p>The first had been Nott; borne from necessity, rather than actual trust. They had somehow ended up in the same prison cell together, on an island far away from anything else.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone else had taken a little longer.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb set his satchel on the worktable, and searched around inside for his reading glasses. This could take a while.</p><p> </p><p>Almost immediately, his hand set upon an unfamiliar-feeling book. He knew exactly which books were supposed to be in his bag; his spellbook, the <em>other</em> book, whatever book he happened to be currently reading (in this case, The Courting of the Crick, embarrassingly enough). This book was not supposed to be in there.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb frowned. He had not put the book in there. He had set his satchel down on the counter, briefly, as he said goodbye to Essek, but had not seen the librarian do anything untoward. Of course, he had been somewhat distracted.</p><p> </p><p>It was not a large book, and it did not have the label on the spine, nor the barcode on the back that indicated it had come from the Zadash Community College Library. It was bound in leather, but did not look too old.</p><p> </p><p>The title was in Undercommon, as was all of the text. Caleb was not fluent in Undercommon, but he did have a little bit of magic that could help him in that regard. His magic was not powerful, but it did not take much to be able to morph the text into a form that he could read. It was not as though there was anyone watching, after all.</p><p> </p><p>The embossed gold letters of the title were immediately familiar to him, and he could not help but give a slight intake of breath. <em>A Treatise on the Luxon Beacon and its Effects on Dunamancy</em>. Underneath that, and somehow just as awe-inspiring as the title, was the author.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Doctor Essek Theylas.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>It was late in Xhorhas, but Yasha Nydoorin was not asleep.</p><p> </p><p>She did not sleep easily, most nights, and often when she did sleep, she was besieged by dreams of great thunderstorms, and of lightning cracking through the sky.</p><p> </p><p>Though she hated to admit it, it had been easier to sleep when there was someone lying next to her, but that hadn’t happened in a long time now. There had been a few occasions where she had almost considered getting close to someone, but her mind always seemed to wander back to the two times she’d had something special, and somehow managed to mess it up.</p><p> </p><p>First with Zuala, then with Beau. Molly might’ve made a joke about it happening in threes, but then Molly was dead.</p><p> </p><p>That was part of the problem.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha sat on her couch, methodically running the cleaning cloth down the barrel of her gun. She tried not to think about how doing weapons maintenance when she couldn’t sleep might have looked to outsiders. Not that there was anyone in her life these days.</p><p> </p><p>As she cleaned, her gaze wandered to the mantelpiece. The sole decoration there was a framed photograph.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha stared at it.</p><p> </p><p>The photo was a couple of years old, and showed two sunglass-clad figures, grinning wildly from the back of a pickup truck that they were lounging across. That was a day that Yasha would never forget. The three of them had all been wildly hungover that day, and both Beau and Molly had leaned over the side of the truck to puke on more than one occasion. It had been the only vehicle within a hundred miles that was willing to give them a ride up the Glory Run Road, and it hadn’t been in a particularly good state of repair, seemingly hitting every single pothole on that unforgiving stretch of hell.</p><p> </p><p>Five hours later, Molly was dead, and Beau was halfway there. Given the choice between taking Molly’s body with them, and getting Beau to safety, Yasha had chosen the latter.</p><p> </p><p>They should have just walked.</p><p> </p><p>In fact, they should never have gone there in the first place. Even now, years later, the Glory Run Road was a notorious place. A lawless place. The sort of place where if you said the wrong thing to the wrong person, you were likely to get murdered. Even if you said the right thing to the wrong person, or the right thing to the right person, murder was still a reasonably frequent occurrence. Yasha tried not to go there if she could help it, partly because of the danger, but mostly because of the memories.</p><p> </p><p>She set the gun down on the coffee table. No sooner than she’d done it, her phone started to ring.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha jumped.</p><p> </p><p>It was well after midnight, but that didn’t make too much of a difference. Yasha’s job meant that she got calls at any time of the day or night, usually from Gustav or Obann. This number, though, she didn’t recognize.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>This is Nott</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha remembered Nott. The stringy little goblin that Beau had met on Darktow. The goblin that had proved to be something of a whiz with a computer, and a crack shot with a handgun. Yasha’s heart skipped a beat.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha must have been silent for too long, because Nott spoke again. ‘<em>You tried to throw me under a bridge one time</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I remember,’ Yasha said. If Beau wanted to talk, she would have called herself. None of Beau’s friends; not Nott, or Caleb, or Fjord, or even Jester were stupid enough to try and intervene in this situation. ‘What happened?’ Yasha was already pulling on her socks. These days, she dressed in her work clothes when she slept, even if she hadn’t quite managed the “going to sleep” thing just yet.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Beau needs your help</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha was halfway to the door before she had even hung up the phone. She kept a bag ready to go in case of calls like this one; calls that came in the middle of the night about an ancient lockbox in the Marrow Valley, or a spear near Vasselheim. Sometimes that ten minutes it took to pack a bag were the difference between getting there first, and having to relinquish a paycheck.</p><p> </p><p>This job was the kind that didn’t pay.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, that wasn’t true. This was the kind of job that didn’t pay in conventional ways. The payoff for this job would be not having to go to a funeral, and regret all the things that she hadn’t said (or had said) when she’d had the chance.</p><p> </p><p>Potentially getting an artifact that she thought she’d missed out on...well, that would just be icing on the cake. Not that Yasha really ate much cake. It was far too sweet for her liking. She preferred rat, or spider, neither of which you could make a decent cake from. Not that Beau hadn’t tried once, a few years ago, for Yasha’s thirtieth birthday. It had been an unqualified disaster, and half the reason that Beau apparently now had a live-in chef (not that Yasha was keeping tabs or anything).</p><p> </p><p>Nott had promised to send the co-ordinates of Beau’s last known location, but admitted that the job had been in the Dunrock Mountains, on the border between Xhorhas and the Empire. It was a tricky place to get to; not because of the terrain, but because both sides had pretty decent radar, just in case the other side wanted to plan something.</p><p> </p><p>It was silly, really, given that the terrain was half the reason that planning things in that part of the world <em>was</em> pretty impractical. Once upon a time, there had been a bottleneck sort of passage that was guarded by the Ashguard Garrison, the Garrison itself changing hands every few months or so. Then, a few years ago, a rocket strike had sent avalanches through the area, making the passage nigh impassable.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha had a few contacts still that flew under-the-radar (<em>literally</em> under-the-radar) flights. It would probably cost her a few thousand gold to make it happen, but it would hopefully get her within a few miles of Beau’s location.</p><p> </p><p>The hard part would be getting out of there.</p><p> </p><p>But, Yasha still had a few tricks up her sleeve.</p><p> </p><p>It took ten minutes, and a couple of phone calls, but she managed to secure herself a very expensive taxi ride that would leave as soon as she made it to the airstrip. It was more than a small risk to leave her motorcycle there, but this was one of those trips where time was of the essence.  If she got there too late, even by seconds, then this time, she <em>would</em> be bringing home a body.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Normally, in light traffic, it took forty-five minutes to get to the airstrip. Tonight, Yasha managed to get it down to twenty. She was not normally one to speed excessively, but these were exceptional circumstances.</p><p> </p><p>Desmond was already there waiting.</p><p> </p><p>‘’ll be about half an hour,’ he told her. ‘Just have to finish refueling and preflight checks. Gustav said it was urgent.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Very,’ Yasha told him.</p><p> </p><p>‘You’re not undercutting him, are you?’</p><p> </p><p>‘No.’ Yasha did not elaborate. She did not have time to elaborate. They might have been spending their time on pre-flight checks, but Yasha had things to do as well.</p><p> </p><p>She pulled out her phone.</p><p> </p><p>Whereas normal people played games about matching fruit, and joining dots, Yasha looked at maps. Nott had sent through the co-ordinates of Beau’s last location (‘It hasn’t changed in the last hour or so, which is either really good news, or really bad news.’) and Yasha was scouring the surrounding landscape to determine the best way for her to get in and out.</p><p> </p><p>Nott had also – reluctantly – mentioned that there were soldiers in the mountains. Exactly whose soldiers, Nott hadn’t been able to tell Yasha, but Yasha had a much better knowledge of the potential culprits.</p><p> </p><p>Either the Empire or the Xhorhasian military were both definite possibilities. Yasha still had some contacts in Xhorhasian special forces, but she didn’t think it likely that they would answer with any level of truth, without a lot of needling. She wasn’t very good at convincing people to do things, at least not over the phone. There was just something about being able to loom over someone with arms crossed and muscles flexing that made it so much easier.</p><p> </p><p>Then, there were the more…subtle options; Cerberus Assembly, the Lens, the Augen Trust. Perhaps even mercenaries from the Clovis Concord. Nott had skirted around the topic of what it was Beau had been looking for in the Dunrock Mountains, but if a group of armed soldiers was also on the trail, then it could not have been anything good.</p><p> </p><p>Really, it didn’t matter <em>who</em> they were. If they stopped Yasha from getting where she needed to go, then she would kill them. It was as simple as that.</p><p> </p><p>More important was the question of once she’d found Beau, where would they go?</p><p> </p><p>South was no good. Even if that wasn’t where the soldiers had come from, it would take them back into the heart of Xhorhasian territory. It wasn’t impossible to get back into the Empire that way, but it was a hell of a lot harder. East had a similar problem. West would take them back into the Empire, but straight into the strongholds that Yasha knew lined the Brokenveil Bluffs. It was definitely possible (and they’d done it before), but if Beau had compromised mobility, then it would be both awkward and difficult.</p><p> </p><p>North, on the other hand, was a dead end unless they kept going through the mountains and came out near the Greying Wildlands. That would take weeks, which would definitely be a problem.</p><p> </p><p>Though, if they went north and then east, then it wasn’t too far to Jigow. It was reasonably sized port town, but Clovis Concord ships were welcome there. Yasha knew that Fjord did occasionally pick up cargo from Xhorhas, though whether or not he came this far north was another matter altogether.</p><p> </p><p>It was a decision that Yasha was reluctant to make until she knew the full scope of the situation. Any one of the options could have been taken off the table altogether by what happened on the ground. Even still, she sent a very quick message to the Captain, enquiring as to his whereabouts, and if he was available to do a pick-up. It wasn’t the first time that either of them had called on Fjord for his assistance. For a while, they had had sort of a system, wherein if anyone needed any help on anything, all they had to do was put out the call, and someone would come running.</p><p> </p><p>About ten minutes later, Desmond returned. ‘Looks like we’re just about ready,’ he said. ‘Now, you want to tell me where I’m dropping you off?’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha had looked at the map. There wasn’t really any part of the terrain that was particularly good for doing a drop. Of course, she’d trained enough, done enough jumps that she could feasibly jump over lava and only come out with a few minor burns.</p><p> </p><p>‘Somewhere around here would be best.’ She showed Desmond the zoomed in screen of her phone, coordinates in the bottom right hand corner of the screen. It was probably best that he didn’t know Beau’s exact location. Yasha had been burned before.</p><p> </p><p>Desmond hummed. ‘Tricky,’ he said. ‘Lots of ground to air defenses around those parts. I can spoof the Xhorhasian signals, but the Empire ones might be a little trickier.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You’ve dropped me in worse places,’ Yasha said. It wasn’t a question.</p><p> </p><p>‘I know,’ he assured her. ‘Just letting you know to be ready for some heat is all.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha put her pack on her shoulder, and tightened the grip on her rifle.</p><p> </p><p>‘I always am,’ she said.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>It was late.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb had planned to get to the library just before it closed, a time with which he was very familiar. More than once, he had been ushered out of the building by the previous librarian, a beleaguered sigh on their lips.</p><p> </p><p>The library was quiet, and Essek was at the front counter, stamping books from the returns pile.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb had not met many dark elves. In fact, he was fairly certain that he had not met any, save for Essek. In the Empire, in the midst of a war, they were the target of no small amount of bigotry and hate.</p><p> </p><p> Even still, Essek was not what he had expected.</p><p> </p><p>He looked up as the door opened, annoyance quickly morphing into a smirking sort of curiosity. The same sort of curiosity that crossed his face every time Caleb came into the library. He was tall – taller than Caleb – and though his feet touched the ground, he always walked with a sort of grace that made him look like he was gliding.</p><p> </p><p>‘I believe I may have something of yours.’ Caleb handed the book back to Essek, who did not look remotely abashed as he took it back.</p><p> </p><p>‘It was a gift.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I ah…would prefer not to have it in my possession if the wrong people came looking,’ Caleb said. Not that he hadn’t read the book. He had read it three times, and committed the thing to memory. Then, he had made copious notes in the book he kept with him at all times. If they found <em>that</em> book, then it was already too late. ‘It was a very enlightening read.’ He put perhaps a little more emphasis than necessary on the second syllable, and Essek raised an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>Essek checked his watch. <em>It’s 8.59</em>, Caleb thought to himself. There was no-one else even in the library, but there was a security camera above the check-out desk.</p><p> </p><p>Essek flipped the sign on the door to “closed,” and locked it. When he returned, he was very carefully facing away from the camera.</p><p> </p><p>‘This is an...unusual subject for someone of your ilk to be interested in,’ Essek said, casually, with no preamble whatsoever. Caleb wondered how long Essek had been aware of his topic of interest. He hadn’t gone to sufficient lengths to hide it, judging by the book that had been slipped into his bag.</p><p> </p><p>‘It is...’ Caleb hesitated. He was inclined to, perhaps not trust, but at least give enough that he got something in return. For safety’s sake, he lifted a hand to scratch his chin, the movement blocking his mouth from the camera. ‘More than just a passing, casual interest. My friend, she ah…she collects rare artefacts.’ It was not a lie, but it was not entirely the truth. Essek seemed very interested in what he had to say. Far more interested than Caleb would have expected.</p><p> </p><p>‘This is the angry one, yes?’ Caleb winced slightly. The single time that Beau had come with him to the library had been after a particularly rough expedition, and she had been in no mood for Essek’s mildly condescending approach to library science. ‘Has she discovered an artefact with Dunamantic properties?’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb could not help but wince further. He had expected that Essek would be able to put two and two together of course. He had not expected that it would happen so quickly, though.</p><p> </p><p>‘There have been some indications that that is a possibility.’</p><p> </p><p>There was a long silence. ‘Follow me,’ Essek said. He took Caleb gently by the forearm, and led him off the library floor and into a side room that must have been Essek’s office.</p><p> </p><p>Then – and this mildly alarmed Caleb – he locked the door. ‘I have something that I must confess to you, Mist—Caleb.’ Caleb could not help but raise an eyebrow at the phrasing. “Confess” was a very intimate sort of phrase, after all. ‘I am not <em>just</em> a librarian.’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb stared at him. He had assumed as much from the beginning. Essek was far too clever to be the time librarian for a Community College, the same way that Caleb was far too clever to be a part-time professor at a Community College. Especially given the content of the book that Caleb had now read through three times.</p><p> </p><p>‘I think…Essek, that that is a distinction that we both share.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I am a member of the Kryn resistance.’</p><p> </p><p>It was not the answer that Caleb had been expecting. Nor, admittedly, was he expecting that Essek would be so willing to reveal such a secret. If he was revealing that secret, then something else was sure to follow.</p><p> </p><p>‘If your friend has discovered artefacts with Dunamantic properties – artefacts of the Kryn Dynasty – then she, and by extension anyone she is close with, is in great danger.’ <em>You</em> are in danger, is what he was saying, Caleb realized.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb laughed. It was not a happy laugh. ‘I do not need you to tell me that, Essek. Our entire lives are fraught with nothing <em>but</em> danger.’</p><p> </p><p>Essek gave a slight chuckle. <em>That </em>at least, had some humor in it. Caleb frowned. ‘Is there something amusing, Herr Theylas?’</p><p> </p><p>‘For months you have been, ah…masquerading as a simple college professor, interested in the study of Dunamancy.’</p><p> </p><p>‘There is not much masquerading on my part,’ Caleb told him. ‘I am that, but I suppose I am also someone who occasionally assists in…more covert operations of a historical nature. It is not so large a secret.’</p><p> </p><p>Certainly not as large as some of the other secrets that he was keeping. The secret, for instance, that he was actually Bren Aldric Ermendrud, a Vollstrecker defector. The secret that he was secretly studying forbidden magic. That, at least, was a secret that Essek already knew, and probably shared in. The secret that he was a practitioner of magic in his own right was a slightly larger one.</p><p> </p><p>‘And yet you go to great lengths to hide your study.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Can you say that the ah…faculty would see my research in a favorable light?’</p><p> </p><p>‘No,’ Essek said, though he seemed to take some time to put those two simple letters together.</p><p> </p><p>‘Is there anything you can tell me about the Beacon that is not written in the book?’ Caleb asked. Though he had kept his voice as casual as possible, Essek still perked up with interest.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you mean,’ he said. ‘That the artefact you are searching for is a Beacon?’</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Scheisse.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Nein</em>,’ Caleb said, quickly. Too quickly. ‘<em>Nein</em>, it is, ah…something that may have Dunamantic properties, but not one of the Beacons. I would have to ask Beauregard to be certain of the item and its provenance. But I gathered that there are general details that could be shared by Dunamantic artefacts.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course.’ Essek nodded, his voice cool. He knew that Caleb was lying, Caleb was sure. What he would do about it, though, was another matter altogether.</p><p> </p><p>He did nothing.</p><p> </p><p>It surprised Caleb, to say the least. ‘I would like to discuss this in more detail,’ Essek said, firmly. ‘Both ah…our shared interest, and things you may have found. Would you perhaps be free for dinner sometime this week?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I think that would be a very good idea,’ Caleb said. Already, he was thinking of several dozen questions he had about the Beacon, and about Dunamancy. Of course, he would have to think of a reasonable lie to cover up all the things he didn’t want Essek to know about. ‘I do have some pressing matters to deal with over the next few days. Perhaps I could give you my phone number?’</p><p> </p><p>Essek took a blank sheet of paper from the printer on his desk, and tore it in half. He handed one half to Caleb, and wrote his own phone number down on the other.</p><p> </p><p>Ten minutes later, Caleb left the library, folded square of paper burning a hole in his pocket.</p><p> </p><p>One way or another, he had a lot to think about.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Early, because what else am I going to do? Go outside? Pshh.</p><p>Anyway, if it fits for the story, I will do flashback chapters, probably starting with what happened on  Glory Run Road, so if there's anything that you want to see, let me know in the comments below. Next chapter in a few days maybe. We'll see.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Beacon of Light (Part Three)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>III – The Beacon of Light (Part Three)</p><p> </p><p>Yasha landed heavily.</p><p> </p><p>She had always hated doing night jumps. It was a far less stealthy thing than most people realized, especially when you were dropping into a heavily forested, mountainous area. She’d hit a tree and tumbled, before rolling to avoid a boulder.</p><p> </p><p>Stopping to catch her breath was a luxury that she couldn’t afford. If anyone had been tracking the plane, or if they had seen her land, then they would be on their way with guns. She needed to get far away from her drop site before taking stock.</p><p> </p><p>She shoved the parachute into her backpack, and started off north. They had aimed for a point a little way south of where they needed to be, but had missed the patch of clearing that would have been a softer landing.</p><p> </p><p>Definitely not the worst drop she’d ever done; than honor went to a clusterfuck of a mission off the North-West coast of Wildemount that had seen her held in an Empire POW camp for four months.</p><p> </p><p>This was a much better outcome.</p><p> </p><p>As Yasha ran, the sun began to peek up over the horizon. From her door, to landing in the Dunrock Mountains, it had taken a little over seven hours. Almost eight hours since Beau had been shot, if Nott’s report had been anything to go by. A lot could happen in eight hours. Easy enough to bleed out, or to wander off. The soldiers could have already been through that way, and she’d never even know.</p><p> </p><p>Or, she would know when she found Beau’s body.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until she was about half a mile away that she allowed herself to stop. Then, she got her GPS out of her bag, to check her position.</p><p> </p><p>All things considered, it wasn’t too bad.</p><p> </p><p>She had drifted a little bit too far west, but, based on the topography of the region, there was not much that could be done about it. The mountains themselves were nigh impassable, and the trees were thick enough that a direct path wasn’t a possibility.</p><p> </p><p>She was still about ten miles off Beau’s position, and even that was contingent on Beau both still having the GPS on her, and not having moved in the last two days. Judging by Nott’s comments on her physical state, Yasha hoped that Beau was smart enough to stay put.</p><p> </p><p>Beau, who was usually the first person to go running into a dangerous situation, to bring her fists to a firefight, or setting off an acid trap in a sarcophagus. That had led to many a visit to the hospital. Beau, who had tried to take on the cult that killed Molly single-handedly, and earned a scar that spanned from neck to navel for her trouble. If Beau had stayed put, though, it meant that they had a bigger problem than soldiers, because it meant that there was something stopping her from moving.</p><p> </p><p>As the morning passed, the sky turned from a brilliant, bleeding orange, to a pale blue. Yasha knew she was a decent way in the wrong direction of the temple, and hadn’t quite crossed the path that Beau had taken. Around eight a.m., though, she found the first of what looked like pretty recent tracks. From that morning, rather than from the previous night, if she was any judge.</p><p> </p><p>It was good news. She was still a decent way off from Beau’s position, and it meant that the soldiers had spread out to cover more ground, to look in all directions. More importantly, it meant that they hadn’t found her yet.</p><p> </p><p>There were two different sets of boot-prints, and they seemed to be doing a reasonably methodical search across the terrain. Over the course of the next hour or so, she found four more sets of prints. There were six of them.</p><p> </p><p>Six of them, and one of Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>She’d had worse odds. Pinned down in the forest east of Asarius, waiting to die, a dozen Empire soldiers or more trying to hunt her down, Zuala bleeding out beside her.  That felt like another lifetime, and yet some nights she still had nightmares. One of the many things in life that gave her nightmares, which was why some nights it was easier not to fall asleep.</p><p> </p><p>It was eight thirty-seven before she saw the first of them. At first, she didn’t spot him, the white and green snow camouflage blending near perfectly with the environment. Then, he stepped sideways and was a bright spot of white against a brown-trunked tree. Even she hadn’t seen him, she would have heard him ten seconds later.</p><p> </p><p>‘Bitch is tricky,’ he said, his voice carrying through the trees.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha unslung her rifle, and lined up the scope. She had not been forced to kill anyone in a long time, but these were exceptional circumstances.</p><p> </p><p>She took a breath, and squeezed the trigger.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>When the last one fell, Yasha waited. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Fifteen minutes. The only sound was a bird screeching overhead.</p><p> </p><p>Then, she checked the bodies. They were all men, most in their twenties or thirties, all human except for a lone half-elf. They didn’t wear any patches, and none of their equipment carried any markings to indicate who had sent them. Even their faces were non-descript enough that there was no single nation that she felt she could accurately pin them to. She opened the pack of the nearest soldier. Though he had been trekking through the mountains for days, he was somehow still clean-shaven. Yasha’s bullet had torn through his neck.</p><p> </p><p>There were the sorts of things she would have expected to find in an elite soldier’s pack. Several days’ worth of food and water, first aid supplies, general survival supplies…Nothing with any marks or logos to denote any agency or country. Still, she got her phone from her bag, and took photos. Now, heart still pumping with adrenaline, she was bound to miss things. Taking photos would let her go over it later.</p><p> </p><p>It was a habit that had taken her a while to get into. After all, if anyone were to go through her phone and find them, it would be hard to explain away several dozen photos of dead soldiers that she had shot and then ransacked their corpses. But, more and more often, employers were asking for proof of job completion.</p><p> </p><p>The radios and navigation equipment, she was half of a mind to destroy, but if they had someone monitoring their progress, then the last thing Yasha wanted to do was have that equipment stop sending back signals. If it bought her half an hour, then she would take it.</p><p> </p><p>If there was time, maybe she would come back this way, and do something about hiding the bodies.</p><p> </p><p>As it was, she took what was useful; food, the first aid supplies, and ammunition, plus a few other bits and pieces, and was quickly on her way.</p><p> </p><p>At nine thirty-four, she saw the first of the blood. She wondered why the soldiers hadn’t seen it. Perhaps they’d been through this way in the dark, or perhaps they’d simply been untrained foot soldiers. Their aim certainly hadn’t been anything to write home about.</p><p> </p><p>At first, it had been a drop here and there, but by nine fifty, there was a steady trail, until it just stopped. The GPS had her standing right about where Beau was supposed to be. Or at least, right about where her Personal Locator Beacon was supposed to be. Drift wasn’t unheard of, but if Beau was still around, then she was within about thirty feet.</p><p> </p><p>The forest was dense here, and it was right up against a cliff face. A few feet or so ahead, she came across a bloody handprint, smeared across the stonework. It didn’t look fresh, but nor did it look like it had been there for a long time.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha edged forward slowly, pushing aside the ivy that covered the cliffside. The opening in the face was so small that she scratched her arms and her legs trying to push through.</p><p> </p><p>It was small and cramped inside, and, though there was some light peeking through, it took a second or so for Yasha’s eyes to adjust to the relative darkness. Not as dark as she would have imagined, but she didn’t have the time to think why, because there, there, lying against a rock, eyes closed, was Beau.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha took a breath.</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t stir.</p><p> </p><p>She looked, in a word, awful. Both the bandage wrapped around her leg, and her khaki pants were soaked with blood, and her blue tank-top was stained with both sweat and blood. Her eyes were closed, and for a brief second, Yasha’s heart seemed to stop.</p><p> </p><p>Lying next to Beau was a glowing…something. Like a dodecahedron of light. Definitely not a lantern, or a flashlight or anything normal. It seemed to call to Yasha, but she brushed it away.</p><p> </p><p>There were more important things to deal with.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>A sound from the outside world jerked Beau into consciousness.</p><p> </p><p>It took her a few seconds to realize where she was, and what was going on. She shielded her eyes against the bright sunlight. Or was it sunlight? Light of some kind, in any case.</p><p> </p><p>The figure silhouetted against the light looked like an angel. Beau blinked. The figure stepped forward, and for a moment, and angel would have seemed more likely.</p><p> </p><p>It was Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>‘Beau,’ she said, and Beau wasn’t sure whether it was her own delirium, but Yasha sounded really worried. Panicked, almost.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey Yash,’ Beau slurred, as Yasha dropped to the ground beside her, and put a hand to her head. ‘Did it hurt when you fell from heaven, ‘cos I’m in serious fucking need of a guardian angel right now.’ She hadn’t exactly planned what she would say to Yasha for the first time in almost a year, but if she had, it wouldn’t have been that.</p><p> </p><p>‘You have a fever,’ Yasha said, finally, after pulling her hand away.</p><p> </p><p>Beau gave a lazy grin. ‘Are you saying I’m hot for you? ‘cos we both know I’ve always been hot for you, Yash.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Your wound may be infected.’ Frustratingly, Yasha did not rise to the bait. She had always been one to put business first.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, that’s ‘cos I’ve been lying in a fucking cave for four days, hiding from whatever shitstains want to steal this—’ Beau cut herself off just in time. She was pretty sure Nott would have told Yasha what their quarry had been, but you couldn’t be too careful these days. Never mind that the Beacon was lying right next to her, literally a glowing fucking spotlight.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s been twelve hours.’ Yasha thrust a large water bottle into Beau’s hands. ‘Can you drink?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau unscrewed the top of the bottle, and drank far more than was probably advised. She hadn’t quite reached the point of utter dehydration, but nor had she been drinking as much as she should have. She probably didn’t need to mention the fact that was starting to realize that she had pissed her pants a couple of times. The cave smelt pretty rank.</p><p> </p><p>‘Small sips,’ Yasha said, in a reprimanding sort of voice, as she pulled the bottle away.</p><p> </p><p>‘Love it when you tell me what to do,’ Beau slurred. She was maybe putting this on just a little bit. Whether for her own benefit or for Yasha’s, she wasn’t entirely sure. ‘What do you mean twelve hours?'</p><p> </p><p>‘Sorry it took me so long.’ Yasha was clearly ignoring the blatant innuendo. Beau was kind of grateful; she knew she’d probably regret everything she said when she regained some semblance of sanity. Her eyes fluttered a bit. It would be really nice to sleep right now. Still…twelve hours. Yasha must have dropped everything to get here. Beau really didn’t want to think about what that meant.</p><p> </p><p>‘Stay awake,’ Yasha said, in a voice that didn’t leave room for arguing. As though Beau had any say in whether or not she was conscious. ‘I need to cut your pants off to look at that wound.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Take me out to dinner first.’ Beau’s voice was a mumble, and she wasn’t entirely sure whether Yasha had actually heard her. Judging by the blush that crossed the other woman’s face, it was probably a yes. Not that it meant much. For such a fucking badass, Yasha was remarkably easy to embarrass. Of course, when it mattered, she could give as good as she got.</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t resist as Yasha gently cut down the thigh of her pants. She didn’t try to help, knowing it would only make things worse. Even still, the small movement jarred her leg, and the pain broke through the haze that was washing over her. She must have screamed, because Yasha stopped what she was doing, and pulled a leather-bound book from her own backpack. Exactly why it was important enough to bring deep into the mountainous forests of Xhorhas, Beau didn’t ask.</p><p> </p><p>‘Bite down,’ Yasha instructed, and before Beau could even make a suggestive comment, Yasha had thrust the book into her mouth. Beau bit down, hard. The pain was overwhelming, but Beau gritted her teeth through it. She wasn’t even aware that her hand was clutching at the dirt ground of the cave, until half the nails on her right hand were bent backwards at the force of it.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s definitely infected,’ Yasha said, after a few moments. ‘But it’s not as bad as it could be.’ Beau tried to look down at her leg, but everything was going kind of blurry. ‘I need to clean it and disinfect it. This will hurt a lot.’</p><p> </p><p>‘What.’ Beau gave a shaky laugh. ‘You mean it’s not supposed to be hurting yet?’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha gave her a look that quite plainly said, “stop being such a smartass.” Beau winked, or at least tried to. She was pretty sure it came off as a blink instead.</p><p> </p><p>The next touch of Yasha’s hand on her leg was accompanied by a searing agony, quite unlike anything Beau had ever felt. Her entire body was overcome with a light and a warmth, and for a while, everything was empty.</p><p> </p><p>She was not awake, but nor was she passed out. She was sort of just...away. Away from Yasha, away from the mountain cave, away from everything else, except maybe the Beacon. The Beacon was inside her head, doing...she didn’t even know what it was doing. It almost felt as though it was trying to keep her safe.</p><p> </p><p>‘Beauregard.’ Yasha’s voice jerked her back to reality. Beau blinked awake, and realized that not only had Yasha cleaned and disinfected the wound, she had sutured it as well. Front and back from the feel of it. It was probably a good idea, but one Beau hadn’t wanted to face the pain of. It wasn’t the first time that Yasha had, quite literally, stitched her up. The first time felt like so long ago. ‘How are you feeling?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Sore,’ Beau murmured. ‘’m I going to die?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t think so,’ Yasha said, frowning, clearly missing the part where Beau was looking for reassurance more than she was looking for the truth. ‘It depends on how quickly we can get you out of here. I killed those soldiers, but they may have called in for back-up.’</p><p> </p><p><em>That</em> got Beau’s attention. Not that Yasha had killed the soldiers – somehow, that was unsurprising – but that there might be more coming. It made sense, of course; if they were after the Beacon, then they weren’t exactly going to give up without finding it. The important question Beau hadn’t had the time to think about yet was “whose soldiers were they?”</p><p> </p><p>There was something else there, something she was supposed to remember, but couldn’t. Something about her leg.</p><p> </p><p>Oh.</p><p> </p><p>Oh yeah.</p><p> </p><p>Beau licked her lips, and wished she could have more water. As though reading her mind, Yasha put a bottle to her lips, and tipped it back gently.</p><p> </p><p>‘The person who shot me,’ she said. ‘I don’t think it was one of those soldiers. I think there might have been someone else out there. Maybe a sniper.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha’s demeanor changed almost instantly. She went from nurturing, to on alert. She put down the water bottle, and picked up her gun. Beau didn’t know a huge amount about guns, but she could tell it was an automatic rifle. Definitely not a sniper rifle. So not great if someone was trying to pin them down, but the good thing about being in such rough terrain was that there was a lot of shit in the way. If they stuck to cover, then they might be alright.</p><p> </p><p>Well, “alright” might have been a stretch. They would make it out alive, at least, but if it took too long before Beau got proper medical attention, she knew there was a chance she might lose the leg.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m going to keep watch,’ Yasha announced, one hand holding the pistol grip of her rifle, and the stock resting gently up against her upper arm. ‘Get some sleep, and we can set off when you’ve had some rest.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yasha,’ Beau said. ‘I...’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha was looking at her, waiting for her to say something. In that second, Beau faltered. ‘Can I have some pants?’ she said.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Wakefulness came far too quickly for Beau’s liking. She felt like she’d barely closed her eyes when Yasha was shaking her awake. ‘It’s time to go,’ Yasha murmured. She spoke softly, like she always did. ‘Here.’ She handed Beau a crutch that appeared to have been lashed together from wood and twine. Beau was grateful. She’d half expected that Yasha would insist on carrying her. It would probably be quicker, but it would tire Yasha out far too much for it to be a good idea.</p><p> </p><p>What was supposed to be a couple of days of hard trekking would realistically be more like four or five, at minimum. Even then, there was a slight snag in the plan.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey Yasha,’ Beau said. She had finished her jerky and her water, and was trying to get used to walking around without putting too much weight on her leg. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to use a crutch, but it was the first time it had been made from dead branches. ‘This path is gonna put us out into Xhorhas, right?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Right,’ Yasha agreed.</p><p> </p><p>‘You have a plan for getting us back across the border?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, <em>I </em>don’t need to cross the border. I live in Xhorhas. But I managed to get in contact with your friend Captain Tusktooth. He is meeting you in the Emerald Gulf, off the coast of Jigow. He has agreed to take you back to the Empire.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau was a little disappointed that it seemed like Yasha wasn’t coming with her. It was understandable, given the tensions between Xhorhas and the Empire, but it wasn’t as though she hadn’t snuck into the country before. Once upon a time, they’d spend day long stretches hiding in the back of cargo trucks under hidden panels to cross the border, close enough to feel each other’s heartbeat.</p><p> </p><p>Once again, those days felt like so long ago, though realistically, it was probably only a few years. Recent enough that Beau could still remember the touch of Yasha’s hand on her thigh as an overzealous Customs inspector went over the back of the truck with a fine-tooth comb, finding the illegal artifacts, but missing the illegal people. So many memories that were irrevocably tarred by forty-eight hours of horror on the Glory Run Road.</p><p> </p><p>The stupid thing was, Beau didn’t even remember half of it. The main thing she did remember was waking up afterwards, and finding out that Molly had died. Thus began a much longer period of numbness, and emptiness, and anger, and all of those other things that accompanied grief.</p><p> </p><p>They walked until just after noon. Beau gritted her teeth through the whole thing, and after a few hours, she could feel the fresh blood seeping through her stitched-up wound.</p><p> </p><p>‘Can we stop for a few minutes?’ It pained her to say it, but it would pain her a hell of a lot more if she kept walking on it.</p><p> </p><p>Plus, there was another increasingly pressing issue that she needed to deal with. Her face glowed red. <em>Shit</em>. ‘Uh...Yasha. Can you, um...I need to pee.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha frowned, slightly confused. Then, she seemed to realize. ‘Oh.’ A pause. ‘I mean, you’ve peed in front of me before.’</p><p> </p><p>It was true, technically, but the circumstances had been vastly different. They had been living together, for one thing. For another, it hadn’t involved needing Yasha’s help getting her pants off (though Yasha had done that plenty of times, too).</p><p> </p><p>The next fifteen minutes or so was both awkward and messy. In spite of Yasha’s help, Beau still managed to get her pants wet again, and tear through a couple of stitches. This time, when Yasha fixed them up, she didn’t have the luxury of being unconscious, and had to grit her teeth through the whole thing.</p><p> </p><p>They kept walking.</p><p> </p><p>By dusk, Beau was vaguely aware that they were actually drifting a little way south. North would have put them out to where she needed to meet Fjord, but Yasha seemed to have something else in mind.</p><p> </p><p>‘There is a village a little way from here,’ she told Beau. ‘One where you can spend a bit longer to recuperate. The soldiers will not find you there.’ It was a tall order, perhaps, but Beau trusted Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>That wasn’t entirely true. She trusted Yasha to be able to keep her alive (which the other woman had done so in the past at the expense of everything else). It had been Yasha’s insistence on keeping Beau alive that had led to the irrevocable breakdown of their relationship.</p><p> </p><p>In all honesty, Beau had forgiven her for it a long time ago (not that there had been anything to forgive), but it would be weird to try and fix things now.</p><p> </p><p>They spent the night in the hollow of a tree, Yasha once again keeping watch. Beau wasn’t sure how she managed to keep going on so little sleep, but then she remembered how once upon a time Yasha had done this sort of thing for a living, marching through hostile territory with a heavy pack for thirty-six hours straight on nothing but caffeine and catnaps. In comparison, this must have seemed like a cakewalk. Even still, Beau managed to convince her to get a couple of hours of sleep just before sunrise.</p><p> </p><p>After Yasha woke, they set out early, Beau’s leg (as expected) aching like crazy. The infection hadn’t quite passed, in spite of several more cleanings from Yasha. If she kept walking on it for too long, there was a chance she might lose the leg. Suddenly, the idea of going south didn’t seem too bad.</p><p> </p><p>They reached the village just after midday.</p><p> </p><p>It was a pretty small one; one of hundreds that Beau knew were dotted around the mountains up here. Many of them, Beau knew, had staved off Empire soldiers during the war with little more than salvaged weaponry, and their wits.</p><p> </p><p>There were lookouts posted along the path to the village, who were on alert, but seemed to settle once they saw Yasha, and then tense up again on seeing Beau. One of them yelled at her in Xhorhasian, pointing his gun at her aggressively. Beau blinked.</p><p> </p><p>It would be so fucking stupid to die after all that. She opened her mouth, went to try and defend herself, but no sound came out. Yasha stepped in, her own hand out, and defused the situation. Beau knew she was speaking Xhorhasian, but the sound was dulled and muted.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s okay,’ Yasha whispered into Beau’s ear, as they walked towards the largest building in the village. ‘I am going to talk with the village elder.’ She put her arm around Beau’s shoulder, helped prop her up. Beau hadn’t realized that she’d been swaying until suddenly the world grew a little more solid.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha spoke to a gray-haired woman in rapid-fire Xhorhasian. For all that Beau was a pretty good linguist, Xhorhasian was one language she wasn’t fluent in, even though she had definitely picked up a few phrases from Yasha. This was clearly a regional dialect, which meant she had even less chance of understanding it.</p><p> </p><p>She spent most of her time in the North-Eastern regions of the country, where Undercommon was more widely spoken. The Kryn had lived in Rosohna and Assarius for centuries. The actual Kryn family had been deposed almost five years ago now, with the Bright Queen going into hiding. Rumor had her seeking asylum in as varied places as Vasselheim, and Uthodern, and Emon. Beau didn’t believe any of them.</p><p> </p><p>Beau jerked back to awareness as Yasha finished up her conversation. The old woman was eying Beau with suspicion, but it seemed as though they were allowed to stay. More importantly, it seemed like they weren’t going to kill Beau.</p><p> </p><p>‘They were worried about your jacket,’ Yasha told Beau, as she helped her limp towards across the village to a low-set building.</p><p> </p><p>‘What?’ Beau struggled to see what her jacket had to do with anything. She frowned, and stared at the khaki of her sleeve.</p><p> </p><p>‘Your jacket,’ Yasha repeated, as though that made anything clearer. ‘They thought you were a soldier. I told them you were just an idiot.’ Beau couldn’t help but laugh. Not that it was all that far off from the truth.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yash, it was <em>your</em> jacket.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha stared at her. Beau realized, all of a sudden, that she didn’t remember.</p><p> </p><p>‘It was six months after we met, and we got caught in that snowdrift near Icehaven heading to Eiselcross, and Molly laughed his ass off because I almost got eaten by a yeti.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha stopped, suddenly. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau wasn’t sure whether or not she was hurt by that. Of course, the fact that she was semi-actively dying was a bit more of a problem. It was just… ‘I mean, that was…’ She kind of felt embarrassed, now. ‘We huddled for warmth, you know?’ In her head, at least, it had been the first time she’d thought the relationship would be about something more than just a friends with benefits sort of thing. The moment was stuck in her mind like an itch that wouldn’t go away.</p><p> </p><p>Not that it really mattered. They’d spent close to four years in an <em>actual</em> relationship; the feelings weren’t the complicated thing in this particular scenario. Just the timing. The timing and the stubbornness.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha led Beau to a small hut at the edge of the village. Though it was inconspicuous in its size compared to the rest of the village, there were flowers out the front that suggested some sort of reverence.</p><p> </p><p>‘This is the healer’s house. Or…one of the healers, at least. He is also not from around these parts. I think you will like him.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha knocked on the doorway of the hut; there was no actual door. ‘Hello?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Hello there,’ came a deep, mysterious sort of voice. If Beau had been in any way attracted to men, that might have done it for her, but since she wasn’t, it didn’t.</p><p> </p><p>They stepped into the hut, and in the light that shone through one of the windows, Beau saw the healer.</p><p> </p><p>He definitely wasn’t from Xhorhas. Though Beau had seen humans in the country, none of them looked anything like this guy. His skin was a couple of shades darker than her own, and his hair was a shock of bright white. His eyes looked like they had a layer of milky white transposed over the top. He was blind.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha helped Beau onto the stretcher, and then helped get her pants off (for like the fourth time that week, it was really becoming a habit), and stood back while the healer worked. Beau wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to figure out what was wrong if he couldn’t see, but she figured there was some kind of magic involved, because all it took was a brush of fingers over the wound before he was humming curiously.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hmmm. How about we take care of that infection?’ He muttered a few soft words, and his hands glowed with a bright light that wasn’t too dissimilar to that of the Beacon. The pain didn’t recede any, but Beau assumed that something must have happened, otherwise he’d have been a pretty shitty healer. He made another pass, and then the pain did recede, and, judging by the look on Yasha’s face, the wound had maybe even closed up. ‘You’ll have to take it easy for a while, but I think you’ll make a full recovery.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Holy shit,’ Beau muttered. It wasn’t that magic was necessarily <em>rare</em>, but she didn’t know too many people that had it, aside from Jester and Caleb. ‘Thanks Doc.’</p><p> </p><p>He laughed. ‘Call me Shakäste.’</p><p> </p><p>In spite of herself, Beau grinned. ‘Thanks, Shakäste,’ she said. Now that she was feeling a little less in agony, the curiosity overtook her. ‘What the hell is a person like you doing in a place like this?’</p><p> </p><p>Shakäste smiled. ‘I fancy myself a bit of a traveler, a bit of a protector, all those sorts of things. I was walking through these parts some time ago, and found these people in need of a bit of help. These days, I help out the main healer, just when she’s a little bit too busy.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m super fucking appreciative,’ Beau told him, sincerely. Most people would have given her a look, as though they thought she was being sarcastic, but Shakäste just laughed.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m told that you’ll be staying here for a few days,’ Shakäste continued. ‘There’s a hut for guests just over the way, I’m sure you’ve been there before, Stinging Nettle.’</p><p> </p><p>It took Beau a moment to realize that he was talking to Yasha, and a moment longer than that to realize that the two knew each other. Beau waited until they had crossed the threshold back out into the village (hardly limping at all) to ask.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes, he was here the last time I visited this village.’ It was a frustratingly inadequate answer. Beau had a hundred questions, but, knowing that Yasha didn’t necessarily respond to hardline questioning, she took a roundabout sort of route.</p><p> </p><p>‘You act as though you’re somehow connected to these people.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha did not answer straight away. She seemed to ponder Beau’s statement for several minutes. ‘They are…something of a sister tribe to my people. Many, many years ago, the Dolorov tribe left this place and struck out on their own. They traveled south, out of the mountains and down to the moorlands. Once a year, the Sky Spear and an entourage of warriors would travel here to fight, and once a year, the matriarch of this tribe and her warriors would come to the moorlands to fight. I left the Dolorov tribe a long time ago, but when the Empire started sending troops and dropping bombs in these mountains, I could not leave it undefended.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau felt a wave of guilt wash over her. Even though her Cobalt Soul activities had not taken her directly into Xhorhas, she still felt bad about all the bullshit things her government had done. It was why she had taken their offer of work and told them, in no uncertain terms, to shove it.</p><p> </p><p>She had done her part by stealing cultural artifacts that the Empire had plundered, and returning them to their rightful place after the peace treaty was signed. Tensions were still high enough that it was not a good idea for her to be caught in Xhorhas without proper documentation. Not that that hadn’t stopped her before. Usually, though, she had some pretty good forged documentation, courtesy of Jester’s dad, who had fingers in more pies than anyone else that Beau knew.</p><p> </p><p>‘And Stinging Nettle?’</p><p> </p><p>‘It symbolizes protection,’ Yasha told her. ‘He called me this because I helped protect this village.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Right,’ Beau said. Yasha was being incredibly patient with her. Probably far more patient than she deserved. ‘Is there a flower that symbolizes an apology?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Purple hyacinth,’ Yasha said, seemingly before she had even processed the question, and the intent behind in. Her gaze hardened. ‘You do not need to apologize to me, Beau.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau raised an eyebrow. Yasha had never been a particularly good liar. ‘You saved my life. I don’t think I ever really thanked you for that.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m sure you would’ve made your way out of these mountains on your own,’ Yasha said. ‘You’re remarkably resilient.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I mean…’ Beau swallowed. ‘I mean on the Glory Run Road.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha stopped, suddenly, and Beau ran into the back of her. Pain radiated through her leg. ‘Oh,’ the other woman said. ‘Let’s…’ There was a long pause. ‘Let’s go put our things in the guest hut.’</p><p> </p><p>The guest hut was small, and held a dozen or so canvas beds. It was very much designed for utility over comfort, and Beau doubted that anyone stayed in the place a long time. She supposed that visiting family probably wouldn’t need to use the guest hut.</p><p> </p><p>Beau lay down on one of the canvas beds, suddenly overcome by the exhaustion of the last few days. She forgot all about the apology she’d been trying to give, and fell fast asleep.</p><p> </p><p>When she woke, Yasha was gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yasha commandeers an aeroplane, parachutes into the middle of nowhere, treks through the jungle and kills a bunch of dudes, and then runs away the moment someone starts talking about feelings.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Beacon of Light (Part Four)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>IV – The Beacon of Light (Part Four)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stayed in the village for two days.</p>
<p>`</p>
<p>It was more than she would have liked, but there was only so much that even a healer like Shakäste could do. That was the thing about magic. Once upon a time, she was sure it must have been powerful, or even commonplace, but now, it was just barely enough to seal up a wound.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The people in the village were wary, but far more welcoming than Beau deserved. They brought her soup and bread and a spiced, fermented drink that was supposed to help with the healing, but mostly just made her want to throw up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With Shakäste’s translation help, she got a map to the small city in the north that Fjord would be meeting her at. Beyond the fact that he would actually be meeting her, Beau didn’t know any of the details, and, more to the point, she didn’t have any way to contact him, so she it was a good idea to get a move on. If she missed him, then she’d be stuck in the north of Xhorhas with no way to get home.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not that she hadn’t been in worse situations before. Bleeding out in the Rime Plains, or pinned down behind a fallen tree in the Ivyheart Thicket, waiting for a dire wolf to lose interest. At least this way, she had options. It was easy enough to slip a few gold to anyone that happened to be going in the right direction. She might have to wait a while, but it was possible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The trek was not an easy one. They were short days, both in terms of light as she moved further north, and because if she spent too long walking, then her leg would not thank her. Even still, all told, she spent six hours walking the first day, and if not for the wound, probably would have tried for twelve or fourteen. The last thing she wanted was to get caught in these mountains with more soldiers potentially on the way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The other concern was that if they managed to track her and Yasha’s progress to the village, then it would not be particularly good news for the villagers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shakäste had assured her that it wouldn’t be a problem. ‘This village has been through a lot,’ he told her. ‘They’re survivors.’ Still, if even one of them died as the result of her carelessness, she would not be able to forgive herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha had left behind food and medical supplies that she must have taken from the soldiers that she’d killed. It was pretty bland stuff; certainly nothing distinctive enough that it could have told her who they were. She vaguely recalled Yasha telling her a story once upon a time, about how Xhorhasian field rations included dehydrated spider stir-fry. Beau, who had been living on mostly jerky, would have welcomed the change. It had been less than twelve hours, but already, she missed the rich, flavorful soup that she had eaten the previous night. The fact that they’d managed to get so many vegetables growing in this isolated, inhospitable part of the world was amazing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As she walked, she looked out for Yasha.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was pointless, really. There was no way that Yasha would have gone this direction. She probably would have gone back south, the way that Beau had come into the mountains. They were a long way from Rosohna; it would probably take Yasha ten times as long to get home as it had to get there. Presuming, of course, she didn’t have someone to pick her up. It was unlikely; if she’d had that option, she probably would have taken Beau with her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Anyone else wouldn’t have bothered. Anyone else would have left Beau there to die, rather than risk life and limb to make sure that she didn’t. Why Yasha had done it…that was a whole can of worms that Beau really didn’t want to open right now. Suffice to say that she would have to do something to say thank-you. Maybe send a fruit basket, or a bunch of flowers. Like, “Sorry I acted like a jerk because you saved my life, and thank-you for saving it again, here’s a nice selection of begonias.” Not the weirdest thank-you gift she’d ever sent someone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was another three days before Beau made it out of the mountains, but she wasn’t foolish enough to thing that her problems were over. The forests on this side of the Dunrock Mountains were hardly safe, after all, because this was where the mobile city of Urzin patrolled, keeping Xhorhas safe from Empire intruders. As much as Beau found the idea of a city that made its home on the back of giant tortoises really fucking cool, she didn’t think that they would take too kindly to an Empire citizen waltzing on through, regardless of how much she disdained her home country.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Luckily, the thing about cities on tortoiseback was, they were pretty easy to spot. Not to mention, she was a lot quieter than an Empire strike force, and technically speaking, was unarmed. Still, she did not think it would bode well for her if she was captured with the Luxon Beacon wrapped up in her backpack. Late one afternoon, Beau managed a reasonably close look at the city, entirely unlike anything that she had ever seen before. Even the tortoises themselves were an utter marvel of nature, but to see an entire city built upon their backs was utterly breathtaking. That night, on the far edge of the forest, she spent the entire night awake, tied into a high tree branch as she listened to the loud, lumbering footsteps that shook the trees with every movement. Thankfully, it seemed to be moving away, and she managed to get a few scant hours of sleep close to sunrise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Out of the forest, her problems did not stop. The grasslands were not wild, but they were expansive, and there was not a lot of plant-life, meaning the profile of a lone human crossing the plains to Jigow could be seen from a great distance. Thankfully, there seemed to be no small number of rock formations that she could keep to. There were not a great deal of people around (human or otherwise), but on the third day of travel, she faced off against a pack of hyenas that left no small number of cuts and bites.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was barely one in the afternoon, but Beau made the decision to stop for the day. Even without the hyena attack, her leg was aching from the days upon days of nonstop travel. The bad news was, her first aid kit was running out of supplies. The healing that Shakäste had given it was fantastic, but it was the sort of healing where going off and doing a ten-day trek afterwards was probably frowned upon. There was no infection, as far as she could tell, but the overuse probably wasn’t helping with the healing process.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, by the time she made it to Jigow, she was very much looking forward to a long rest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a port city.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not a particularly nice one; the weather was frigid and cold, and the ports themselves were filled with drunken sailors that hadn’t quite managed to make it work in the Empire Navy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the whole, it meant that there were exactly two good things about the situation. One, the drinks were cheap, and the bars plenty.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Two, there were lots of ways that one could find a “good time” if you were willing to pay for it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau was willing to pay for it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Most of the populace were goblins and orcs, but they didn’t turn their nose up at a paying customer. She started off with a hundred gold, and thanks to a few lucky games of Three-Dragon Ante, managed to turn it into two hundred. Enough to have a decent time in a shitty town, at least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She spent the next two days getting a little bit drunk, but not so much that she would do something stupid (like accidentally tell another drunken idiot about the priceless artefact in her backpack), and playing cards with an old local who seemed to have lost all of his teeth. She didn’t win a single hand, and the local was quite happy for her to pay for all of his beers in compensation for his time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At night, she found company of a different sort. Not wanting to aggravate the leg too much, she didn’t go quite as rough as she would have liked, but just enthusiastic enough to keep herself sated. For all that it was a shitty sort of place, the companions that she found were attractive enough even when you had a bar as low as hers was. Definitely the kind that were only too happy to pound her into the mattress.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wasn’t quite ready to take a proper look at the artefact that had nearly cost her her life. It was far too dangerous to even get out of her bag, in a place like this, where anyone could have wandering ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, by the time Fjord showed up three days later, she was well beyond antsy and into anxious territory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wished that Yasha had stuck around. Not for any weird reasons, but it would have been nice to have someone around that didn’t leer at her like she was a piece of meat. Not that she minded when Yasha leered at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Fjord finally did show up, Beau was so relieved to get out of the stupid place, she hugged the guy the moment he walked into the bar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Whoah,’ he said, in that stupid fake accent of his. ‘A little eager to see me, aren’t you Beau?’ Beau gave him the finger.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Can we fucking leave already? I’m sick of this place.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Didn’t you spend four days in a hole?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau declined to answer that one. It was embarrassing enough without the rest of the world knowing about it. She didn’t even know <em>how</em> he knew about it. Yasha must have told him, even if “four days” was a slight exaggeration.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord lowered his voice as they walked in the direction of a relatively small cargo ship moored at the dock. ‘If you’re interested, I may have come across some information that might interest you regarding that special project of ours.’ He was speaking in his proper accent; a much posher, much more refined tone than the one he put on for his crew.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau considered his words. The last time they had traveled together, they had been looking for buried treasure. They hadn’t actually found any, but it had set them on a much more interesting, much deadlier path. Or, more accurately, it had set Fjord on a path, and Beau had sort of just been along for the ride.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wasn’t necessarily uninterested. Her main priority, though, was to get the Beacon back to Kamordah without getting herself killed. Anything else was icing on the cake. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to know what he found; but not while they were surrounded by potentially unfriendly ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They boarded the ship (“Wildmother’s Grace,” which Beau had always thought was a fucking weird name for a cargo ship), and Fjord took Beau to the Captain’s office.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I asked you to do some research on that serpent,’ he said, without any kind of fanfare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau winced slightly. It wasn’t that she’d forgotten. She just had a very long list of things to research. She had done a little bit, but not nearly as much as she would have liked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Uk’otoa, right?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Right,’ Fjord nodded. ‘Anyway, I was in port in Nicodranas, and I heard rumors of ships that had found an old temple to him in the middle of the Swavain Isles. Might be something related to what we’ve already dug up.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Pirate territory.’ They were both very familiar with the Swavain Isles, having plundered no small amount of treasure from there almost three years ago. It was where they’d met Caleb and Nott.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Fjord mused. ‘Somehow, I feel like if we were to take this vessel into those waters, it wouldn’t end well, so I’ve been, ah...putting some feelers out about potentially hiring a ship and crew of a...less reputable sort. Which is where I’ve hit a snag.’ He gave Beau an apologetic sort of smile. ‘You know quite a few criminals, don’t you?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau considered the point. Criminals, she knew. Pirates, not so much. Still, there were a few things she wanted to look into anyway, if they were headed in that direction. She had an idea of someone that might be able to help.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I have one contact that could probably help us in that regard. Technically, you do too.’ The Gentleman wasn’t a pirate, but she was sure he knew pirates. Not to mention that there were favors owed on both sides. He would probably want a share of whatever they found, but that was par for the course.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘He’s not really<em> my</em> contact, though, is he?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah, but you know that Jester would do anything for you, right?’ Fjord looked suddenly embarrassed. He didn’t like to talk about his very obvious crush on Jester, so Beau made sure to bring it up as often as possible. ‘We may have to wait until I’m not limping, though. If we gotta run from lizardmen again, I’m gonna get torn apart within seconds on this leg.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘That was <em>one</em> time.’ It had been three times. ‘We totally didn’t almost die.’ They had been seconds away from death. ‘Jester absolutely didn’t have to pull us out of the fire.’ Jester had absolutely saved their lives. On several occasions. The tiefling did have a knack for being the most powerful person in the room without realizing it (in more ways than one). ‘Anyway, he likes you more than he likes me.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘That’s because I make him money.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not as much money as he would have liked, of course. He would have liked (and had requested on multiple occasions) for Beau to give to him any artefact that she found that could have been valuable on the open market. Beau had not so politely told him to go fuck himself. He’d even sent Jester to try and convince her. Sadly, those methods of convincing did not involve any form of seduction, otherwise Beau might have played along for far longer than she did.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The crux of it was, she didn’t do any of this for the money.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She <em>had</em> money. What she cared about was history. In her mind there was no greater thrill than being able to tie two threads together that had previously been hanging apart. It was the whole reason she’d said yes to the Beacon job. Priceless Xhorhasian artefact, sure, but the excuse to study ancient Xhorhasian ruins in depth was worth more to her than any amount of gold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not that gold was useless. It was pretty fucking important, actually, because it gave her access. Sometimes you needed to bribe border guards or customs agents, or charter a guide to a temple deep in the Cyrengreen Forest, only to get attacked by werewolves. Sometimes you needed to buy expensive scanning equipment because you’ve set off a trap in a dungeon one too many times.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So yeah. Money helped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a two-week journey from Jigow to Port Damali. Far longer than Beau would have liked, but at this point, she wasn’t really in a position to look a gift horse in the mouth. From Port Damali, she would catch a commercial flight back up to Zadash, and then get Caleb to pick her up from the airport. The tricky part would be finding a forger to give her a stamp, showing that she had arrived in the Clovis Concord in a legal and ethical manner, and not as a stowaway on a Port Damali cargo ship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first thing Beau did, though, as soon as they’d set out, was use the satellite phone to check in with Nott and Caleb. They were both inordinately pleased to hear her voice, Nott perhaps a little more than Caleb, but then, Caleb had never been one to wear his emotions on his sleeve.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>We thought you were dead!</em>’ Nott screeched. ‘<em>Yasha never checked in, so I just assumed that the soldiers had killed both of you!</em>’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No, Yasha just did the thing that Yasha always does.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>What, fucked y—</em>’ Judging by the muffling sound, Caleb had just slapped a hand over Nott’s mouth. Just as well. Beau might just have kicked her out for that comment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>We are very glad to know that you are alright</em>,’ Caleb said. ‘<em>I have learned some things that…ah, I would prefer not to discuss over the phone, but I think you will be very interested</em>.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>That</em> piqued her curiosity. ‘Well, I’ve got two weeks to study this object, so hopefully, I’ll be able to reciprocate.’ Following his lead, she decided against saying the word “Beacon,” just in case someone was listening in. It would be just her luck to survive getting through the mountains, only to get her ass jumped on the open ocean.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>First things first, though…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau made her way back to the Captain’s office, where Fjord was waiting. Before Beau could even say anything, Fjord had pulled out a very nice-looking bottle of whiskey, that was a nice, smooth burn that she had missed for far too long. For the first hour or so, they simply shot the shit, talking about whatever random thing happened to come into their heads. Beau learned far too much about the correct technique for tying off an anchor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So, tell me about Uk’otoa.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time Fjord asked the question, they were three glasses in. It was a nice, subtle sort of buzz that was very different from the beer that she had been drinking in Jigow. Beau pulled out her journal, and flipped to the section of pages where she had written her notes, some weeks previously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, first things first, every single thing I read, says “don’t fuck around with Uk’otoa,” but I figure at this point, we’re a little late for that.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord barked a laugh that was quite unlike his usual laugh. It sounded at the same time, stressed, and not really amused at all. ‘Funnily enough, I learned that one the hard way.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Fair point.’ Beau raised her glass, and downed it in one gulp. If nothing else, it definitely helped with the throbbing pain in her leg. ‘Anyway, Uk’otoa was said to be created by the Betrayer God Zehir, left behind to rule over the Lucidian Ocean. A leviathan trapped beneath the ocean, waiting for someone to free him.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a long silence. ‘Well, that’s…shit,’ Fjord said, finally. Beau didn’t disagree. Definitely not the sort of entity they wanted to get themselves involved with. And yet… ‘Leviathan.’ Fjord continued, frowning. ‘They’re sort of…elemental creatures, aren’t they?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sure,’ Beau agreed. ‘Super useful for some of my other research, by the way. A lot of the ancient writings on Elementals is in Primordial.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Do you know anyone that speaks Primordial?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau gave a tiny laugh. ‘There is literally no-one. But hey, guess what, you already know the one person in the world that’s trying to translate an ancient Primordial tablet in their basement, so we’re getting there. You’d think Jester would know, ‘cos she’s half-Genasi, but apparently she doesn’t.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well the Primordials were destroyed, yes?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah, that’s like…how we got here.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord frowned. ‘I’m not bad on the arcane stuff, but I’m a little rusty on the history, so a refresher would be nice.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, the Primordials – the Elemental Titans – were here first, right? Then the Gods came from beyond the ether, and created all life on Exandria. The place was still a mess of fire and water and earth and shit, though, mind you. Anyway, then the Primordials were like “fuck you, we don’t like you,” and started killing shit. Gods didn’t like that, but they sorta disagreed on how to deal with it. The Prime Deities wanted to defeat the Primordials, and save all their precious people, and the Betrayer Gods kinda just went insane. Admittedly, some of it’s a little fuzzy, because, you know…thousands of years ago.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Of course.’ He sort of sounded like maybe he was following, but then, he was a pretty good liar.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So, the Prime Deities destroyed the Primordials, and banished the Betrayer Gods and yadda yadda yadda, a bunch of stuff happened after that, then Vasselheim was founded. That’s why they call it the Cradle of Creation. ‘Cos it was the first city founded after shit went down.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘They do?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Holy shit, Fjord, are you <em>kidding</em> me?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hey!’ He gesticulated wildly with his hand, and almost knocked his glass over. ‘I’m not dumb, but I’m not a book learning sort of guy, I’m a learn by doing sort of guy.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shook her head. ‘Honestly, Fjord. So, there are no more <em>actual</em> Primordials, but some of the more…horrific Elementals like your pal Uki retain some vestiges of the language, and shit. I don’t know. Fuck, Fjord. You couldn’t have maybe pissed off a party god?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Very eloquent,’ Fjord commented, completely ignoring her question. ‘I would absolutely read a book about you telling me about history with every second word being “fuck.”’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hey, fuck you man, I’m helping you.’ Beau paused. She’d kind of forgotten where she was. ‘Anyway, moral of the story: two main things we know about Uk’otoa, is that he’s super fucking dangerous, and that people really shouldn’t go to his temples because of all the shit they’ll find there. I’ll email you the CliffsNotes.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘That would be much appreciated,’ he said. ‘So…that being said, does that mean you’re not interested in accompanying me to this temple?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Fuck no,’ Beau said, immediately. ‘Of course I’m gonna go. Can you imagine how bad I’d feel if you died?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord looked a little insulted. ‘Are you implying that I would die if I didn’t have you to help me out?’ Beau didn’t say anything. Fjord did have a tenancy to…well, push the big red button.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Not at all,’ Beau said, finally. <em>Yes.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord narrowed his eyes, apparently unsure whether or not he believed her. It’s not like he was alone in the matter. Beau would have been dead a hundred times over without the help of her friends.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She sighed. ‘Anyway. I got some…shit to do.’ She stood, and stretched out her aching body. Though she hadn’t had to fucking walk more than a few hundred feet in several days, things were still not quite back to normal. ‘Thanks for the drink.’ Or four drinks. ‘I’ll return the favor in Port Damali.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau returned to her cabin, mind spinning. The conversation had put her into a research headspace, and, even though she was mildly buzzed, it seemed like a good time to take another look at the Beacon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was where she had left it, tied up in her jacket at the top of her backpack. The backpack itself had a lock on top to deter any snooping eyes. Not that it would have done much against someone that was <em>really </em>determined, but enough to keep casual interest away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>First, she took a photo from all angles, making sure to include a high resolution shot of all twelve of the side. At first glance, they seemed identical. Then, she realized that if the light caught the faces just the right way, there was writing on them. Undercommon, definitely. Nothing recent, of course; the words and the spelling had all changed enough over the centuries that it might take a little while to decode. It looked like it might be similar to the Undercommon that was on the tablet in her basement.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Interesting. Definitely useful, even if she did have to pass the Beacon off to the person that had hired her. It’d almost be worth it to lie, and say she hadn’t been able to secure it, but then, she had a professional reputation to maintain. It wasn’t a <em>great</em> reputation, but it was a reputation nonetheless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stayed up until well after midnight, poking and prodding at the thing, trying to replicate what it had done when she’d first picked it up in the heart of the Dunrock Mountains. The heavy cloud cover that had sullied the day had turned into the steady beat of rain. By the time she had put the Beacon down, and was getting ready for bed, it was close to pelting. There was something strangely calming about being out on the water in this weather, even if the ship did sway a bit too much for Beau’s liking. There was a reason, after all, that she always liked to accompany Fjord on whatever shenanigans he got himself into.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Should have been a marine biologist</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That said, some of the wreck diving courses she’d done had been amazing. There were hundreds and thousands of missing puzzle pieces hiding under the ocean. Maybe she should get back in touch with Orly, see if he had anything for her. It’d be like taking a holiday.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least no-one would shoot her while she was underwater. Okay, that wasn’t true. She’d almost been killed by a spear-gun once or twice. The one thing she could definitely say about mercenaries, they were pretty fucking determined.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once Beau had gotten more photos of the Beacon than was necessarily sane, she uploaded them to the server that sat next to the bay of monitors in the “operations room” back in Kamordah. For a long time, she’d carried around an external hard-drive to keep all her notes on, but she spent so much time diving headfirst into dangerous situations that it was a lot safer to have Nott set up something a little more reliable. Even still, her connection this far out on the Emerald Gulf was questionable at most, and it took a little bit of walking around the top deck in the pouring rain before she managed to get a signal. After that, it took another twenty minutes for the photos to actually upload, by which time she was well and truly soaked to the bone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Time to go back to the cabin, and get warm under the covers. </em>(Pity there wasn’t a nice, warm pair of arms to hold her).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Halfway back to the bridge, Beau froze. Standing in the doorway was a lone, drow figure. Her eyes hadn’t quite caught him at first, the rain was so thick, but then she picked up on the water droplets bouncing off his body.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had the Beacon in his hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Fuck</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Shouldn’t have left it out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was her first thought. Should have tied it back up, and put it in her bag. Funnily enough, she gathered that that probably wouldn’t have been enough to stop…whoever this person was…from getting in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Time seem to stand still for about three seconds, before Beau ran for him, as fast as her bad leg would carry her. She couldn’t lose that fucking Beacon. Not after everything she’d gone through to get it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Duck</em>, said the voice in her head. The voice that wasn’t her own. It had been silent for the last few days, and she was beginning to think she might have imagined that it was merely the result of adrenaline and blood loss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She ducked, and watched as the sword that had been swinging straight for her neck sliced across the air above her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>What the fuck, there are two of them</em>? <em>Why does he have a fucking </em>sword?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’d only seen one thief standing in the doorway, and he was thirty feet ahead of her. She looked up, and saw only a dark shadow. She lashed out up with her foot, and struck the shadow in the chest. While the kick definitely landed, the shadow figure seemed to dissipate the moment her foot hit it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The momentary distraction had been just enough for the figure to gain some distance, racing towards the stern of the ship. There<em> was</em> a second one, she realized; not the shadow, but a masked figure, dark, pointed ears poking out from underneath a blank face. He was already partway through casting a spell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They were going to get away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau dove through the air, landing just inches away from the pair of intruders. She lashed out with a hand to grab at an ankle, but it was burning so hot that she had to pull her hand away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The two figures glowed a pale blue, and then disappeared with the Beacon. The ship was undisturbed. They seemed to have come and gone without disturbing a single other soul.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stared off at the lightning-struck sea. Her heart pounded in sync with the pounding rain. They could have been miles away. <em>Hundreds</em> of miles away. That spell was far more powerful than <em>anything</em> she’d ever seen. More powerful than Caleb, or Jester, or anyone else that she knew.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Whoever they were, they had the Beacon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Fuck,’ she said.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Conversations in the Dark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>V – Conversations in the Dark</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Two Weeks Later</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When Beau hobbled through the doorway of the Lionett Estate, things hardly seemed to have changed.</p><p> </p><p>Not that she’d expected them to.</p><p> </p><p>She’d been gone almost five weeks, which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t really a long time. She’d certainly been away from home for much longer periods of time, but most of that had been before she’d moved into the Estate. When she’d worked with Molly and Yasha, all those years ago, sometimes they’d spend months at a time pulling jobs, moving from place to place, sending some of what they found back to the rightful owners, and selling the rest.</p><p> </p><p>After that disastrous night on the Emerald Gulf, during which she’d lost the stupid godsdamned artefact that she’d taken a bullet trying to acquire, it had been a shitty sort of journey. Not least of all because this was the fourth job in a row where she’d failed to get the thing she’d been hired to get. At this rate, no-one would bother with even considering her. Not that it mattered, overly. The paid jobs were more an excuse to give her an air of legitimacy. It sounded way better to say “I’ve been hired to retrieve this artefact” rather than “I’m plundering this tomb out of historical curiosity”. Not that either of those excuses had ever gotten her out of being arrested.</p><p> </p><p>At least now, though, she could sleep in her own bed. Sleep in her own bed, and eat something a little nicer than the cafeteria style meals that they’d had aboard the Wildmother’s Grace. Beau loved Fjord, but he spent so much of his time on the open ocean that he forgot other people occasionally liked meals that weren’t slathered in grease. Beau had maybe sent a text message ahead to Nila to say that she was coming home. Nila was, ostensibly, the cook, and the gardener, and occasional healer, and she made a goodberry and walnut pie that was fucking phenomenal. Beau hadn’t been to the kitchen yet, but she could definitely smell something that was cooking.</p><p> </p><p>Before she could even think about heading in that direction, Beau saw a small, green figure rushing towards her. Nott ran into her bad leg, almost knocking her to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>‘Nott! Fuck! Watch the leg.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, shit, sorry.’ Nott stepped back. ‘Are you okay?’ Beau raised an eyebrow. Nott often professed how little she cared about Beau’s wellbeing. Nott jumped back even further. ‘I don’t care!’ she screeched. ‘I just didn’t want to have to find a new place to live!’ The look of relief in her eyes said otherwise. For all that they bickered, and fought, and got on each other’s nerves, Beau was starting to see the other two as family.</p><p> </p><p>The last time that had happened, it had been with Molly and Yasha; hopefully things wouldn’t end the same way. Of course, given that she was never going to fuck Nott, and Caleb probably wasn’t gonna go guns blazing into a slave-trading operation, that seemed pretty unlikely.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, any number of things could happen to upset the delicate equilibrium that they’d put together, but that, frankly, was a problem for another day.</p><p> </p><p>Right now, Beau went to the kitchen, Nott and Caleb on her heels. Caleb had been mostly silent during the drive from the airport. He didn’t ask nearly as many questions as she would have expected about the Beacon, and about what had happened to it. Just as well, because then Beau would have had to explain how she’d let her guard down, and fucked it all up.</p><p> </p><p>In fact, both Nott and Caleb seemed a little subdued, but then, Beau wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation, so he wasn’t complaining. She let Nila wrap her in a very warm (very nurturing) hug, and then ate three servings of bacon and egg quiche, before finishing it off with a large slice of pie. Food, in Beau’s opinion, always tasted better when you waited a long time for it, and she had been waiting five godsdamned weeks for this food.</p><p> </p><p>‘You are a treasure,’ Beau moaned, as she patted her very full stomach. That was at least five straight days of pull-ups. She made a mental note to give Dairon a call, and made the slow, ambling climb upstairs through the too-empty house.</p><p> </p><p>The majority of the house was still filled with all of her parents’ old furniture; antique rolling desks, and priceless jade statues, and all manner of other needlessly expensive frivolities, which Beau had taken to covering with sheets, both to avoid dragging up unpleasant memories, and to stop them from getting too dusty. She knew for a fact that Nott had pilfered more than a few of the more expensive items, not to sell, but because they were shiny. One day, she would have to go through it all, when she got ready to sell the house; it was way, way too big for anything that she needed, but for a temporary base of operations, it wasn’t half bad.</p><p> </p><p>Beau’s mother had been a collector of fine art, and the living room and the parlor (both frequently used enough that the furniture remained uncovered) were littered with near masterpieces. Not quite good enough to be worth millions of gold, but good enough that phone had been ringing off the hook with art collectors before the dirt on her parents’ (empty) graves had even settled. Beau was still waiting for one that didn’t lowball her.</p><p> </p><p>Then, there was the matter of the winery. Beau had all but signed away the operation of the business entirely. She was far too busy doing her own thing to worry about how the harvest was going, or how much money they were making, or anything like that. She had a couple of lawyers and accountants that sent an update once a week. Beau was pretty sure she hadn’t read a single one of them. Nott, strangely, was more interested in that sort of thing, and Beau was pretty sure that the goblin would tell her if something was seriously amiss.</p><p> </p><p>That was pretty much the furthest thing on her mind, though, as she stripped off her tired, sweat and blood-stained clothing that hadn’t quite come clean no matter how many times she’d tried to wash it on Fjord’s ship. There were a few other things, less tangible things, that still weighed heavily on her.</p><p> </p><p>Not nearly so much, though, that she didn’t fall asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Her dreams were…weird.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t unusual for Beau to have weird dreams. After all, she did a lot of weird things in life, like plundering tombs, and jumping off of waterfalls, and getting cursed by ancient artefacts. It was more unusual when she had <em>normal</em> dreams.</p><p> </p><p>These ones were unusual in a different way. For one thing, Beau had a certain level of lucidity that she’d never had before. Though she was bathed in a strange white light, she could immediately tell that it was the product of her imagination, the same white light she’d seen after touching the Beacon in the Dunrock Mountains.</p><p> </p><p>She half expected to see memories, or hear voices, or…or something to give credence to the idea that she was losing her mind, but there was nothing. Nothing like that strange voice in the back of her head, telling her what to do, and occasionally giving her short previews of the future.</p><p> </p><p>The Beacons, she knew, were part of the body of the Lord of Light. In touching one, had she somehow absorbed some of that Light into her body? So, she just potentially had someone else’s god living in the back of her head, no biggie. She remembered, suddenly, horrified, just how many times she’d gotten laid since touching the beacon. Was the Lord of Light a pervert?</p><p> </p><p>That definitely wasn’t a question that she wanted answered. In fact, she would much prefer pretending that there wasn’t something weird living in the back of her head, and going about her life as normal.</p><p> </p><p>Which meant, next morning, badgering Nott about the conversation that she’d had with Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>After breakfast (more quiche, and more pie), Beau went down the long, empty hallway to the operations room. Maybe one day soon she’d have the time to have it kitted out properly with interactive displays, and servers that didn’t take forever to upload to.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey Nott.’ Nott jumped, and slammed the laptop lid shut. The goblin had been busy trying to hack what looked like a government server. Beau raised an eyebrow. She didn’t specifically <em>ban</em> Nott’s less than legal activities, but she did like when there was a certain level of…well, precaution involved. Hopefully, Nott was covering her tracks. ‘I wasn’t doing nothing!’</p><p> </p><p>Beau brushed it off. ‘You spoke to Yasha, right? When you got her to come pick me up?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, yeah.’ Nott’s voice had returned to normal, with only the slightest hint of screech. ‘“Oh Yasha, please help, Beau’s in trouble and she really needs your help.” She dropped everything to come and get you.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau frowned. ‘I was in the middle of nowhere. Somehow I feel like she didn’t just jump in the car and start driving.’</p><p> </p><p>Nott shrugged. ‘She said she was gonna charter a plane.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau swore. It was just like Yasha to do something like that. Spend thousands of gold that she didn’t have, just to save Beau’s life. ‘You reckon you could…I dunno, hack her bank account and send her some money?’</p><p> </p><p>Nott stared at her. ‘You remember that conversation that you had with Fjord that one time that I absolutely wasn’t listening in on where you told him that sometimes you did stupid shit, and to call you out if you didn’t realize you were doing it.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau’s eyes narrowed. ‘Vaguely,’ she said.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well some people would be insulted by the idea of being repaid for something like that.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh.’ Beau frowned. ‘Do you think Yasha would be insulted?’</p><p> </p><p>‘You’re the one that dated her, how the hell should I know?’ Nott had managed a single piece of useful advice before snapping back into “I’m pretending I hate you even though I secretly care a lot” mode. ‘I swear, you would be lost without me.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, whatever,’ Beau muttered. She decided to leave Nott to it, and tackle her “list of shit to do.”</p><p> </p><p>There were a few things on the list, in no particular order of importance. Number one, call Jester and have her come look at the leg. Beau pulled out her phone, and sent a quick text message. It was a bit of a crapshoot as to when Jester would be free. If she didn’t have a job, then it could be as soon as that afternoon. If she did, then Beau might have been facing a wait of weeks.</p><p> </p><p>Number two, see if Dairon wants to come and train. As much as Beau loved training, that particular invitation had more than a few ulterior motives. I would be good to get a different perspective on some of the things that were going on. While she had her phone out, Beau sent off another text message. Dairon was a little better than Jester about responding in a timely manner, but the elf always had their own agenda.</p><p> </p><p>Number three, figure out what the fuck was going on with the Beacon.</p><p> </p><p>Her mind was buzzing, the way it had been almost non-stop since she’d lost the Beacon to the thief on the Wildmother’s Grace (still a weird name for a ship). Though she hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy (wasn’t even sure if it actually <em>had</em> been a guy), she was pretty sure he’d been drow.</p><p> </p><p>Unsurprising, given that it was a Xhorhasian artefact to begin with. But, Beau had sort of figured that they’d been the ones to hire her, so…</p><p> </p><p>She couldn’t quite figure out what she was missing.</p><p> </p><p>No, that wasn’t true.</p><p> </p><p>She knew what she was missing. She was missing Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>She missed having someone else in the bed with her at night, and she missed someone bringing her a mug of warm milk when she stayed up until two in the morning reading books about archaic dialects of Undercommon. She missed having someone that she could spar with in the ballroom that had been converted into a gym. Caleb had tried once, and then refused to do it ever again after Beau accidentally punched him square in the jaw.</p><p> </p><p>She had tried calling Yasha a few more times since returning to Kamordah, but somehow, the calls never went through. Very mysterious, considering Nott had had to call Yasha to arrange for the (frankly kind of embarrassing) rescue.  Either Yasha was screening her calls, or she had changed her number.</p><p> </p><p>Beau’s money was on the first option. Though she had first-hand experience of the way Yasha went to great lengths to avoid things she didn’t want to talk about, she also knew that Yasha was far too protective to ever run the risk of not being able to be contacted.</p><p> </p><p>There was also, of course, the possibility that Yasha hadn’t made it home yet. It was not unheard of for Yasha to drop everything and spend six weeks in the woods, just because she was sick of the city. It was frustrating as hell, but definitely not impossible.</p><p> </p><p>Even if Yasha wasn’t particularly one for the research side of things, she’d always been good to bounce ideas off of, and had a wide range of frankly pretty esoteric experience that came in useful at times.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Well, as long as you’ve got the phone out.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Beau bit the bullet, and send a very quick message. Nothing quite long enough that she would accidentally dig a hole for herself with a shovel she didn’t know she was holding.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hey Yash, not sure if you’re screening my calls or not, but I just wanted to say thanks. Got back home safely, will be avoiding ancient Xhorhasian mountain ruins for at least the next couple of days. Would be really good to talk; there are some things that I really want to say.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Beau was half-tempted to add “love you,” at the end, but decided against it.</p><p> </p><p>Her life was complicated enough already, for the moment.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, the photos Beau had taken of the Beacon had uploaded to the server. Beau grabbed her laptop, and took it up to her bedroom, away from where Caleb and Nott were squabbling over…over something. Beau hadn’t been paying attention.</p><p> </p><p>She pulled up the photos, and spent the next hour or so rendering them into a 3D model. There was a ludicrously expensive 3D printer downstairs which was very helpful for when Beau wanted to study an artefact a little further, but also wanted to do the socially responsible thing, and return it to its people. Or, sometimes, the objects were just too fragile to be pored over in the detail that Beau liked to go to.</p><p> </p><p>The model wasn’t perfect, but at the moment, it was what she had.</p><p> </p><p>Now that she had a chance, and a comfortable bed from which to work, Beau set to work on translating the Undercommon. She had to run it through a couple of different programs to find the right dialect (the eventual answer being “one that’s old as shit.”)</p><p> </p><p>The translation was…interesting.  </p><p> </p><p><em>In the Luxon you will find a fragment of possibility // In the Luxon you will find rebirth and growth // In the Luxon you will find the path to Umavi</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Umavi. Beau didn’t bother to translate it in her notes; not because it was untranslatable, but because in her experience, Xhorhasians referred to it as Umavi even when speaking Common. It was one of those concepts that was so intrinsic to the culture that to translate it would be to lose any meaning that it had once had.</p><p> </p><p>The literal translation was “perfect soul,” but that didn’t quite describe the complexity of it. Not in the sense that an Umavi was a perfect being, but that it was a being that had reached a stage of preparedness to meet the Luxon. It was a weird thing. The Beacons held the Luxon, but…they also maybe held the souls of all the people that had died?  It was a weird thing that Beau hadn’t quite managed to figure out yet.</p><p> </p><p>Everything she’d read indicated that the Beacon was at the center of Xhorhasian religion. At least, it had been during the time that the Kryn had been in power. From what she had seen in the news, what she had picked up from in a few different places, the new “regime” was not as hardline on the matter of the Luxon, and that strangely, this wasn’t very popular with many of the citizens. Beau supposed that when you spent your whole life being told one thing, engaging with one ethos, it would be strange to have it torn away by a violent coup.</p><p> </p><p>It was no wonder that they’d decided to steal it from under her nose. Assuming that it was either the Kryn, or the currently ruling Den. Which was it again? Beau wracked her memory.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Tathisar.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>That was right. Den Tathisar.</p><p> </p><p>The real question was, who was it that had hired her to get it in the first place, and why were they ghosting her now? The cynical part of Beau thought it likely that they had hired her to do the dirty work, only to steal it when she was out in the open. Avoid paying five thousand gold, and avoid having to go into the old, potentially trap-ridden tomb yourself. It seemed a no-brainer now that she considered the option. Something that she should have been smart enough to keep an eye out for.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever had happened, though, this sure as hell wasn’t the end of it.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>‘You are on crutches.’ Dairon was always a big fan of pointing out the obvious. Usually because it was going to be followed by a lecture of some kind.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Is this a training injury?’ It was a fair question. Not all of Beau’s hospital visits had been the result of ill-considered trips into archaeological sites of questionable safety.  The first time she’d broken her arm, it was because she’d failed to tap to an armbar that she still maintained she could’ve gotten out of, if they hadn’t stopped the match to call an ambulance. The screams had probably been the cinching factor.</p><p> </p><p>‘No. I…’ Beau paused. Telling Dairon the story would mean telling Dairon what had happened, which would mean bringing the Cobalt Soul in on the Beacon thing. Not ideal, but, if Beau was honest, she wouldn’t say no to the help. ‘I got shot.’</p><p> </p><p>If Dairon had had any hair, her eyebrows would have risen into it. They seemed to be trying very hard to maintain their cool.</p><p> </p><p>‘Where were you?’</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a question that Beau could easily get out of answering. She would either lie, and Dairon would call her out on it, or she would tell the truth, and then get eviscerated, but at least it would be over quickly.</p><p> </p><p>‘The Dunrock Mountains,’ she said. Predictably, Dairon wasn’t impressed, and with good reason. It was one of the things they had hammered into Beau over and over again. Don’t fucking go into Xhorhas. The Dunrock Mountains was close enough to Xhorhas to be an issue. (Beau absolutely did not plan on mentioning the several dozen or so times she’d been to Xhorhas besides).</p><p> </p><p>‘Are you insane?’ Dairon hissed, as though there was someone there that might overhear them. ‘Nevermind that the Empire would hang you for <em>treason</em>, you know exactly why you shouldn’t go into those mountains.’</p><p> </p><p>That was the thing. After the Age of Arcanum, and the Calamity, when the majority of magic had disappeared from the world, there were a lot of leftover artifacts. Not necessarily significant bastions of magical power, but enough to draw the eye of no small number of greedy collectors. Since the final battle of the Calamity had taken place in Xhorhas…well, that was where most of the cool stuff actually ended up, in the mountains far more than the rest of the country. Beau had actually been in one of the safer parts of it.</p><p> </p><p>She wouldn’t be much of an archaeologist if she avoided all the cool stuff. The Cobalt Soul, who were historians and keepers of knowledge more than anything else, didn’t necessarily see it that way.</p><p> </p><p>Some of the magic had ended up in people, rather than artifacts, and they tended to keep it very, very quiet. Caleb, Beau suspected, was one of them (though he went to great pains to keep that fact hidden). Jester was another – whenever she was under Jester’s care, she somehow seemed to heal way quicker than with any other doctor. That also could have been because unlike other doctors, Jester didn’t have a stick up her ass (and could definitely kill Beau with her pinky finger if she really wanted to).</p><p> </p><p>‘Well,’ Beau shrugged. ‘I mean, it wasn’t being in the mountains that almost killed me; it was an asshole with a sniper rifle.’</p><p> </p><p>Dairon sat down. Judging by the way she was clenching her fists, Beau suspected that she was trying to stop herself from grabbing Beau by the shoulders and shouting at her.</p><p> </p><p>‘Did you find anything there?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau was almost about to say “yes” when she heard a voice in the back of her head, a voice that almost certainly was not her own. <em>No</em>, it whispered. <em>No</em>.</p><p> </p><p>‘Not really,’ she said. ‘Old tomb with some old writing, but nothing the Soul would find useful. Whatever it was my client wanted was long gone. I’ll send you some happy snaps.’</p><p> </p><p>Dairon grunted their approval.</p><p> </p><p>‘What about the tablet? Have you made any progress?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau winced slightly. She really should have been working on the tablet. It was half the reason why Dairon still spoke to her, why she still had access to the library. The tablet she’d found deep beneath Shattengrad, and could have be the key to unlocking the secrets of the Primordial language. She was also sort of kind of maybe holding it hostage so that she could be the one to translate it.</p><p> </p><p>Nott kept using it as a coffee table.</p><p> </p><p>Well, used the replica as a coffee table, at least. The original was in a biometric-coded safe, to which Beau was the only one that had access.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s slow going,’ Beau admitted, which wasn’t a lie. ‘A lot of the Elvish is a different dialect than I’m used to, and there’s a transliteration that I can’t quite get my head around. The Undercommon bit is easier, but then, I use Undercommon more than I use Elvish.’</p><p> </p><p>Dairon raised an eyebrow. ‘Yes, if only you knew an elf that was willing to assist in this task.’</p><p> </p><p>‘We’ve talked about this,’ Beau said evenly. She knew the moment that the Cobalt Soul got wind of what she had discovered, they would swoop in with their own team of (much more highly trained) linguists, and take the discovery from under her. Beau trusted Dairon insomuch as she had agreed to tell them about the tablet, but actually showing it to the elf was a boundary that Beau wasn’t quite ready to cross yet. She was almost there, but something in the back of her head told her to wait.</p><p> </p><p>The dialect wasn’t even the main problem. The problem that, as far as Beau’s knowledge of Primordials went, the concepts they wrote and spoke about were so vast, so abstract, that there weren’t necessarily the words to describe it in other tongues. A bit like Celestial, but also entirely unlike it. Beau thought it was similar to Deep Speech, in that it was primarily a verbal language, but used a different written language to convey ideas. In this case, Dwarvish. The problem was, Primordial was nothing like Dwarvish in syntax and grammar. At least, she didn’t think so, mostly because she hadn’t gotten that far.</p><p> </p><p>So yeah. Slow going. Her typology analysis so far was basically a dozen or so pages of question marks. Weirdly, she was always more amped about doing it after a training session.</p><p> </p><p>They went through some basic stretches, modified slightly to account for Beau’s injury. They couldn’t work on kicks, which was disappointing, because kicking things was way more cathartic than just punching them.</p><p> </p><p>‘You would be better suited to seeing a physical therapist,’ Dairon said, in a chastising sort of voice, as Beau struggled to touch her toes without causing strain on her leg. ‘There is not a great deal we can work on if you are this injured.’</p><p> </p><p>‘The invite was more for the conversation,’ Beau admitted. She would have fucking loved to spar, but her leg <em>definitely</em> wasn’t up to that challenge just yet. Dairon gave her a curious sort of look. Admittedly, she hadn’t really said much yet that couldn’t have been covered in a phone call. The silence was an invitation for Beau to continue talking. ‘What do you know about the Kryn?’</p><p> </p><p>Judging by the immediate look of shock on Dairon’s face, it wasn’t the question they had expected. Like magic, the Kryn wasn’t exactly a banned conversation topic. Just…guarded. Though she hadn’t seen any Den symbols (and wouldn’t have recognized them even if she had), Beau was sure that only the Kryn could have been responsible for stealing the Beacon. The current ruling Den had no reason to be so subtle. They probably would have killed her, and everyone else on board the Wildmother’s Grace.</p><p> </p><p>‘Politics is a dangerous business, Beauregard. One that the Cobalt Soul endeavors not to get involved in.’</p><p> </p><p>That was a bullshit answer. The Soul’s very existence, it’s very creed, meant that it got involved in politics whether it wanted to or not. For all that they claimed to be an impartial, overseeing organization, there was no question that the High Curator of the Zadash Archive licked the boots of the King more than was necessary.</p><p> </p><p>‘Humor me,’ Beau said, darkly. ‘Have you heard any rumors of the Kryn looking to retake the throne?’</p><p> </p><p>‘There are always rumors. No drow would take deposition lying down. Especially not when they believe that they have such divine right to rule. If it is something that you would like me to…have a bit of a look into, then perhaps I could find the time to do that.’</p><p> </p><p>It was not an offer that would be without expectation of reciprocation.</p><p> </p><p>Dairon hesitated. She turned around, to see if anyone was watching. Given that they were at Beau’s house, with its state-of-the-art security system, and that Caleb and Nott were busy with their own shenanigans, no-one was watching. ‘I did not give this to you,’ they said, and handed Beau a flash drive. ‘These were not found in the ruins of Thar Amphala when the Expositors managed to secure an expedition there. They almost certainly will not be helpful in deciphering the tablet.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau could take a hint, even if Dairon had laid it on a little thick. ‘Got it,’ she said. ‘If anyone asks, I was inspired by the gods.’ For anyone that actually knew Beau, that was a laughable concept. She didn’t let anyone tell her what to do, let alone a God.</p><p> </p><p>‘Out of curiosity, though,’ Beau said, looking Dairon in the eye. ‘If I weren’t to look at it, what wouldn’t I find?’</p><p> </p><p>‘You certainly wouldn’t find more samples of Primordial writings.’ Beau straightened immediately. <em>Holy shit</em>.  That was pretty big. It would almost certainly be helpful in decoding the tablet, at least. Maybe. There would be more information to work with, but unfortunately that also meant…well, <em>actually</em> looking at a lot more stuff.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, when I’ve finished not taking a look at it…’ Hesitation. She still wasn’t entirely sure about this, but…Dairon had been nothing but helpful so far. ‘Maybe you can come around and not help me with the Elvish sections of the tablet.’ Dairon gave a slight smirk. That was of course, what they had been angling for. An equal and expected exchange of information.</p><p> </p><p>Beau bit back a sigh. She really needed to start trusting people. Or at least trust that there were some people out there that weren’t looking to fuck her over at a moment’s notice. Though neither of them said it, Beau knew that their training session had come to an end. They had both gotten, on some level, something that they had came for, without giving up too much in return. When her leg <em>did</em> heal, Beau was looking forward to doing some actual training.</p><p> </p><p>Dairon paused at the door. ‘I know that you are more interested in the very much unsanctioned smash and grab side of things, but…there are some digs coming up that we could always use some help on.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Sure,’ Beau said, before she’d even really thought about it. In her mind, there was no love lost for the Cobalt Soul, but Dairon had helped her out of no small number of scrapes. She wouldn’t do it for the Soul, but she would do it for Dairon. ‘Give my secretary a buzz.’</p><p> </p><p>Dairon raised an eyebrow. They had once made the mistake of referring to Nott as Beau’s secretary, and Nott had responded by attempting to bite Dairon’s ear off. It was a touchy subject. ‘Remember what it is that I keep telling you,’ was all the elf said.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, yeah.’ Beau gave a flippant wave of the hand. ‘Be safe, don’t get too close, don’t die, etcetera.’ Dairon’s response was a beleaguered sigh.</p><p> </p><p>‘That wound in your leg tells me that you could perhaps be paying a little more attention to those instructions. I speak only with your wellbeing in mind.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau let herself soften. She couldn’t deny that she probably would be dead several times over if not for Dairon’s assistance, and continued support.</p><p> </p><p>After affirming that she would, in fact, try her best not to die, she walked Dairon out.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>A bright blue tiefling bounced through the front door, dressed in a frilly white dress, as though coming for a party, rather than to take a look at Beau’s leg.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha had done a pretty good job of stitching it, according to Shakäste, and while there was a minor infection, the antibiotics that he’d given her had mostly cleared it up. Of course, the fact that she’d gone and walked on it for a week afterwards had hampered the recovery process.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s so good to see you, Beau!’ Jester wrapped Beau in a hug before Beau could pull back. Not that she minded being hugged by Jester. In fact, of everyone she knew, Jester was one of the few people that she would let hug her. She had tried to hug Caleb once, and it had been an intensely awkward moment that they’d both silently agreed to never mention again.</p><p> </p><p>Beau had met Jester in Port Damali, a few years ago. The tiefling had pulled her, half-conscious from the bay and nursed her back to health after a deal for some (frankly slightly illegal) Issylran artworks had gone very, very badly. Then, she’d helped Beau go and rescue Fjord from smugglers. It had been a whole thing.</p><p> </p><p>These days, Jester worked at a free clinic in Zadash, but was always willing to come by Kamordah when Beau did something stupid that she didn’t want to go to the hospital for, which was often.</p><p> </p><p>All things considered, the leg was doing pretty well. The infection had cleared up, and the wound itself was healing nicely under the stitches. It would scar, of course, but that was entirely expected.</p><p> </p><p>‘You always get into so much trouble,’ Jester said, in a pouty sort of voice as she cleaned the wound. ‘You should really do something safer.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Then I’d never have a reason to ask you around.’ Beau winked, and Jester rolled her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>‘Normal people have coffee, Beau! Coffee and pastries.’ Of course, neither of them was exactly normal. Jester was the daughter of a courtesan and a crime boss, though the second part was apparently supposed to be hush hush. Beau had pulled more than a few jobs for the Gentleman; he paid well, and didn’t ask inconvenient questions. In fact, the inconvenient questions usually came from Beau.</p><p> </p><p>‘I should have bought pastries,’ Beau conceded. ‘You know, given you’re helping me out and all.’ Jester frowned, blue brow wrinkling.</p><p> </p><p>‘The bakery in Kamordah doesn’t use enough cinnamon.’ That was the polite way to say that almost all the food you could buy in Kamordah tasted a little bit like sulfur. Even the air tasted like sulfur. Honestly, Beau had gotten used to it.</p><p> </p><p>The wound now clean, Jester gave a wink, and tapped it with her finger. It healed up enough that the stitches could probably come out, but not quite so much that the scar tissue had finished forming.</p><p> </p><p>‘I have a question,’ Beau said. ‘And, you know…you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. Have you always had magic?’</p><p> </p><p>Jester frowned. ‘For as long as I can remember,’ she said. ‘But you know…it’s not much. I know there are some people that can like…blow things up, or make things move with their mind. I’ve tried doing that, but I’ve never been able to. All I can do is heal a little bit.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau was pretty grateful for that. She didn’t even want to think what kind of position she’d be in if not for Shakäste and Jester.</p><p> </p><p>‘You ever heard of people being able to teleport?’</p><p> </p><p>Jester’s eyes were wide. ‘No, that’s <em>so</em> much magic. Holy shit. Can you teleport?! Beau, why didn’t you tell me?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Nah.’ Beau grinned. ‘Just something I came across. We done?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yup!’ Jester said, and she helped Beau to her feet. ‘When you’ve healed up, my dad says he has some work for you.’ Jester was bouncing as she packed away her kit of medical gear. Beau was fairly certain that normal doctors didn’t carry bone-saws or poison capsules in their regular medical kits. For all of the tiefling’s perceived sweetness (and real sweetness) she was a pretty renowned figure in the wet-work community. Not that anyone was supposed to know that. ‘In Marquet.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Whatever happened to “do safer work”?’ Beau asked wryly, as though the comment hadn’t been all of two minutes ago.</p><p> </p><p>‘This is different. I’ll be going too. That automatically makes it at least…fifty-percent safer.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau raised an eyebrow. She couldn’t imagine what kind of work that the Gentleman had that would involve working with Jester, who…well, they had different styles, that was the main thing. Beau’s work generally didn’t involve killing people, for one thing. ‘I don’t have to kill anyone, do I, ‘cos I’ve told you before…’</p><p> </p><p>‘No, of course not,’ Jester said, in a blasé sort of manner. Beau wasn’t entirely sure that she was being honest. ‘We’re just stealing some things.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Uh huh. And the people that we’re stealing these things from, are they likely to get upset that we’re stealing them?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, <em>duh</em>. Otherwise we could just ask for them.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Right.’ Beau knew a lot of things, but she couldn’t even begin to understand the way Jester’s mind worked sometimes. Strangely, she got on really well with both Fjord and Nott, who rubbed each other the wrong way a lot of the time.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you think Fjord would want to come?’ Jester asked, trying – and failing – to be subtle.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you think Fjord would want to come steal a bunch of stuff?’ Beau raised an eyebrow. ‘I dunno, you might have to sweet-talk him.’</p><p> </p><p>Fjord was a bit of a boy scout at times, but he did have a soft spot for Jester. They all maybe sort of had a soft spot for Jester. Once or twice Beau had made a not so subtle offer, but Jester wasn’t interested. At least not like that.</p><p> </p><p>That said, Beau hadn’t been serious with anyone for a long time. Not since she and Yasha had…broken up felt like the wrong word, considering what had happened. Fallen apart, maybe.</p><p> </p><p>There had been no small number of one-night-stands, to the point where it was easier to take people back to a hotel room, rather than go through the whole gambit of explaining her life story. Jester and Fjord, though, that was a weird can of worms that Beau didn’t even want to begin to open.</p><p> </p><p>‘Tell you what,’ Beau suggested. ‘He wants to take a ship to the temple of an Eldritch sea god, and I’m pretty sure it’s on the way to Marquet, so if you don’t mind spending four weeks at sea, you could probably convince him. Which reminds me, we may need to find a boat that isn’t going to get us boarded by pirates.’</p><p> </p><p>Jester’s eyes went wide, unconcerned by the mention of pirates, but seemingly ecstatic at the thought of spending four weeks on the ocean with Fjord. ‘Oh, I can get us a pirate ship no problem, I’ll just talk to my dad. But, oh my god, Beau,’ she said. ‘Four weeks on the ocean! He will <em>definitely </em>be in love with me after four weeks.’ Beau decided not to mention that she was pretty sure Fjord was already half-way to being in love with Jester. One of them would eventually make a move.</p><p> </p><p>‘If you aren’t dead,’ Beau commented, under her breath. Not that she necessarily expected that they were going to die while tracking down some things about an Eldritch sea god, or whatever the fuck it was. She just kind of felt it was safer to go into things assuming that there was a good possibility that you were going to die. It saved being upset about it when it inevitably happened.</p><p> </p><p>That probably wasn’t the healthiest perspective to have. Not that Beau was exactly an expert when it came to healthy perspectives on things.</p><p> </p><p>‘So anyway,’ Jester said, changing the subject very abruptly. ‘Let’s talk about <em>your </em>love life instead. How is Yasha?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau gave her a cold, stony sort of look. Jester and Nott had clearly been talking behind Beau’s back.</p><p> </p><p>‘She’s like …your ex or something, right?’ Jester almost definitely already knew the answer to that question, and was being a little shit. Beau decided to humor her. At least a little.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s complicated,’ she said. Generally, she used “it’s complicated” to describe something she didn’t really want to talk about, like her relationships (or lake thereof) with Keg, or Reani, or anyone else she’d had a one-night fling with. In Yasha’s case, though, it really was complicated.</p><p> </p><p>For all that she wasn’t big on commitment, Yasha was the one person that she had, once upon a time, considered possibly spending the rest of her life with. Now, they apparently couldn’t even have a conversation without Yasha wanting to run away.</p><p> </p><p>‘How is it complicated?’ Jester asked, taking a very considered bite of a donut that she had pulled from nowhere. ‘Did you guys used to fuck or not?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau laughed. ‘Okay, fine. Yeah, we dated for a while.’ Like three and a half years, a while. ‘I thought I was gonna spend my life with her, y’know?’ It was weird. For all the jobs that she pulled with Jester – even the ones that Yasha had come along on – the situation had never come up. Probably because they weren’t really much for PDA. Strictly business in the field, save for a wink every now and then. Jester couldn’t have failed to notice that <em>something</em> was going on, but Molly was probably the only one that had known exactly what.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh,’ Jester said, frowning. ‘<em>That</em> kind of complicated.’ Beau knew she had been expecting something a little…well, sexier.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah. But you know…it was good to see her again. Make sure she’s okay, that sort of thing.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Plus, she saved you, and all. That was <em>very</em> romantic of her. Maybe you should send her flowers.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau laughed again. She decided not to mention to Jester than she’d sort of considered doing the same thing herself. It wasn’t generally part of her seduction repertoire, but it <em>was</em> part of her “make Yasha happy” repertoire, which was a completely different set of skills.</p><p> </p><p>‘Or, you could take her out to dinner, like “oh Yasha I’m so happy you saved my life and I just wanted to say thank-you,”…You know?’</p><p> </p><p>‘She lives in Xhorhas,’ Beau reminded Jester.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, come on Beau, you sneak into Xhorhas <em>all</em> the time. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t sneak into Xhorhas to do something <em>super</em> romantic for someone.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes, I can see that going down very well with the judge in my treason trial.’ She put an arm around Jester’s shoulder. ‘Now, about that pirate ship?’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Don't forget to leave a review; tell me what you liked, tell me what you want to see more of.</p><p>Fun fact, that Nila appearance was originally going to be Caduceus, but then I decided he probably needed a little more agency. He will show up at one point, but I'm still trying to work out the kinks on the best way to bring him in.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Run (Part One)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>VI – The Run (Part One)</p>
<p>Six Years Ago</p>
<p>
  <em>Kamordah</em>
</p>
<p>Beau stared at her watch, wishing like the nine hells that this would be over soon. Up front, the Priest of Erathis droned on, and on, and on. Beau had to physically stop herself from rolling her eyes; most people in Kamordah, like so many other agricultural towns in this part of the world, kept up a quiet worship to the Wildmother. Their shrines were small, and hidden away; Beau’s parents were not nearly so outlandish that they would have even considered having a funeral presided over by a Priest of Melora.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Of course, they hadn’t really done much planning in that regard at all, save for a family plot tucked away near the back of the cemetery. The Lionetts were not so pedestrian as to be buried with the rest of the riffraff.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, the priest finished up, and Beau could not help but give a sigh of relief. She’d had no hand in planning the funerals, and it had taken every modicum of self-control she had not to tell her father’s business partner to go fuck himself when he asked if she would be coming. Especially since, at his insistence, the feds had spent the last two months grilling her to find out whether or not she’d had anything to do with their fatal plane crash. Now that the investigation was finalized though, they were finally allowed to literally bury them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The fact was not lost on her that her father was apparently closer with his business partner than with his own daughter. He always had been one for putting money above everything else.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, she decided to show her face, if only so that she could reassure herself that they were actually dead. The final nail in the coffin (pun absofuckinglutely intended) was when she arrived and found out that the Lionett’s three-year-old son (of whom Beau knew nothing) had also died in the crash. Something that in several hours-worth of interrogation, nobody had bothered to tell her. She had a little brother that she didn’t even know about until after he was already dead. Somehow, no-one had bothered to mention him in any of the news articles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’d almost left right then and there, but she had put so much effort into actually getting to Kamordah that it would be silly to leave now. At least if she stayed, she would never have to bother coming back here again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It had taken a decent amount of closet raiding to find something appropriate to wear. It wasn’t that she didn’t have anything, but more she didn’t want to associate what she already had with a really shitty day. In the end, she’d taken a quick trip to the Cobalt Soul tailor and had a plain, black suit made. The only concession to color was the bright blue sash wrapped around her waist.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was the politest way that she could think of to say “fuck you” to her parents one last time, given that they were the ones that had sent her away to boarding school.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau didn’t stick around for the wake. She didn’t particularly want to go to their house, see the things she had left behind, dredge up old memories. Instead, she went to the <em>Gemmed Hearth Inn</em>. It was a seedy sort of bar that Beau had spent no small amount of her teenage years doing things she really shouldn’t be doing. Of course, that was before she decided to stop coming home for the summers, instead staying at the school, and continuing her training. It had taken her father almost a month to realize that she hadn’t come home, and when she did, the only question he asked was why she wasn’t around to help with the summer harvest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Given the choice between being in Kamordah, in the dry, scorching heat, not at all helped by the ever-present stench of sulfur, and the geysers that went off at random intervals, or being at the Cobalt Soul, working out, helping in the library, and research…well, it wasn’t much of a choice. Not that the people at the Cobalt Soul actually liked her any more than her parents did, but at least when they hit her, it was for a reason.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Beau drank until she couldn’t remember her own name, and then went to bed in one of the shitty, bed-bug infested rooms upstairs. It was weird. Her parents had never really <em>been</em> parents, but she was suddenly struck by the thought that she was alone in the world, even if nothing had really changed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning, hungover and feeling sorry for herself, Beau ate a large breakfast to soak up the nausea in her gut. She was halfway through a plate that was mostly bacon, when she heard footsteps coming up behind her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well hi there,’ said a slow, amiable sounding voice. ‘Would you be Miss Beauregard Lionett?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau turned, and almost choked on her bacon. She was met with a seven-foot tall firbolg in a brown, patchwork suit. He had short, curly hair, and a short, curly beard. She had seen him in the crowd at the funeral, and, in her hangover haze, vaguely recalled wondering who the fuck he was. ‘Who wants to know?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘My name is Pumat Sol, Attorney at Law, I’m here to talk to you about your parents’ Estate.’ Beau stared at him. She didn’t think she’d ever seen anyone that looked less like a lawyer. ‘Respectfully,’ he continued, ‘You’re looking a little filthy.’ He waved his hand a little bit, and the beer stains on Beau’s brand-new suit disappeared. She stared at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You’ve got magic, and you use it to clean stuff?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He gave a wide smile. ‘Oh, I don’t decide what form the magic takes. But I do have a few other tricks up my sleeve.’</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>Beau couldn’t think of a single question to ask him. Her brain was filled with cobwebs. ‘Cool,’ she said. Then, the first thing that he’d said suddenly hit her. ‘Wait, you said you were here about my parents’ Estate.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘That’s right,’ Pumat Sol said. He looked around the bar. ‘This may require a certain amount of cleanliness.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau groaned. ‘Well, you may have noticed that this whole town is kinda just dirty in general.’</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>‘If I could make a suggestion, we could go up to the Lionett Estate and ah, take care of business there.’ Beau was starting to get the impression that this wasn’t a conversation she was going to like. In fact, she was pretty sure it was a conversation she would want to be very, very drunk for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They went up to the house. Against her will, Beau found herself shaking a little as they went under that stupid fucking archway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It hardly seemed to have changed since she’d been there last, almost five years ago, and even then, it had been a short visit. A short visit that had ended with a lot of yelling, and no small amount of smashing things. Beau had a scar across her right eyebrow from where a shard of pottery had sliced through it, which, frankly, was the best thing she’d gotten out of the visit. Eyebrow scars were sexy as fuck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, though, the house was empty. It was feeling she got the moment she stepped through the door. Aside from the servants, everyone who had lived in this house was dead. She shouldn’t feel sad. She didn’t <em>want</em> to feel sad. The choked sob that escaped her was from being here, not from thinking about her family.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was what she tried to tell herself, anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pumat Sol had clearly been here before, and did not need directions as he took Beau upstairs to her father’s study. She tried to keep her eyes forward, to avoid looking at the antique furniture, and the artwork on the walls, and all the things that were nothing more than a reminder of what she’d lost. Or, more accurately, a reminder of something that she’d never really had.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau sat down at the large, mahogany table that seemed to take up half the room. Her father had used it to meet with suppliers, and contracts, and potential buyers. He had also used it as pedestal from which he could scold her, punish her, humiliate her. Pumat Sol wasn’t to know any of that, of course. He set his briefcase on the table; it was made of a soft brown leather, and seemed to shimmer slightly in the sunlight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Now what I’ve got with me here is the last will and testament of your parents,’ he told her, in a tone of voice that Beau would have normally associate with talking about the weather, or what she’d had for breakfast that morning. In a way, it was strangely comforting, and certainly the nicest that she’d ever been spoken to in this house. ‘I’ll let you read through it in just a jiffy.’ He rummaged through the bag, and pulled out a sheath of papers, setting them in front of Beau. ‘Now essentially what we’ve got here in a nutshell is that your parents have left you everything.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stared at them, numbly. ‘What?’ she said. She had heard the words, but hadn’t quite managed to process them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, of course it was technically supposed to go to your brother, but because he died in that same there plane crash, it goes down the line to you.’ He smiled, placidly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh,’ Beau said.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Beau sat at the table for a while, long after Pumat had gone. She still felt nauseous from the outrageous amount of alcohol that she had drunk the previous night, but now it was accompanied by an undercurrent of nervous tension.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She didn’t want this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wanted to go back to Zadash, and hunker down in the library, and go on pretending like nothing had happened. That her parents were still sitting in their ivory tower in Kamordah, pretending that she didn’t exist. Instead, she was in their now empty house, staring at a few sheets of paper, and a jade necklace. The jade necklace that Beau had thrown in her father’s face the night she’d last seen him.</p>
<p>It had done neither her nor her parents, nor her brother any good as “protection”, but it was at the very least a reminder of what she had lost.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Pumat had taken it out of his bag, and told her that her father had wanted her to have it. Beau couldn’t help but snort. Beau’s father had never wanted her to have anything. Actually, no, that wasn’t true. He had always wanted her to have what <em>he</em> wanted. She was sure that if she took the necklace, then the only thing she would find would be disappointment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She stuffed it into her pocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, when she decided that she’d sat there in silence for long enough, Beau got up to leave. Pumat had mentioned something about emailing her some things, that technically she couldn’t actually <em>get</em> any of the stuff in the Estate until six months after her parents died, just in case there was someone who wanted to make a claim. Beau wasn’t sure if there <em>was</em> anyone that could make a claim. It wasn’t like she had anyone else in the world.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As she made her way back down the hallway, a sign on one of the door’s caught Beau’s attention. In the haze of her tunnel vision, she must have missed it on her way through the first time. It was a wooden sign – maybe made of ash, or mahogany – and it had been expertly engraved with the words “TJ’s room.” The engraving was inlaid with bright colors. Even still, it was oddly formal for what Beau now realized was the bedroom of a three-year-old. Her hand hovered at the doorknob.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It would be so easy not to go in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not to think about the brother she’d never met, the brother that she never <em>would</em> meet. Pretend that he had never even existed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Beau was nothing if not masochistic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She opened the door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was like stepping over someone’s grave. A shiver passed through her as she crossed the threshold. The room was light, and airy, a cool breeze playing through the open window. Beau was vaguely cognizant of being told that the servants were keeping the house maintained. She guessed that must include locking the house up at night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The walls were painted blue – not the blue of the Cobalt Soul, but a soft, pale blue that reminded Beau of the sky in winter. The walls didn’t have any pictures up on it, but there was a small, wooden bed, with sheets that featured a cartoon character that Beau didn’t recognize. On the bookshelves, she found several dozen books featuring the same cartoon character, an anthropomorphized owl called Googly, plus some stuffed toys, and a wooden train set.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It looked like Beau imagined a three-year-old’s bedroom was supposed to look. A three-year-old that had been raised by loving parents, without the crushing weight of their expectations pushing him into the dirt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A three-year-old that had died in a plane crash, with his whole life ahead of him. She had never met him, and yet she mourned for him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It started as a few errant tears pressing at the corner of her eyes. She tried to push them back, to make them go away, but then few things in life had ever gone Beau’s way. It was not long before they turned into wracked sobs. She dropped to her knees, clutching at the stuffed Googly toy, trying to grab hold of a world that was more rapidly spinning out of her control.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was fifteen minutes or so before the tears subsided. Beau got to her feet, and brushed herself off. As she stood, she saw something out of the corner of her eye. A familiar looking puzzle-box.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A strange sort of sad anger rose in Beau’s chest. She recognized the box. It had been her father’s, always sitting on his desk as he attempted to figure out its secrets.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He had been her father that was interested in antique curiosities, like statues, and puzzle-boxes, and odd locks. He always thought that there was something greater at play, some strange mystery to solve. Some fate to be beholden to. It was part of the reason he had been drawn to build the winery here; even Kamordah had its fair share of arcane and historical mysteries.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was also the reason that he had sent her to the Cobalt Soul Academy, clearly having heard of it as a forefront in historical research. Whether or not he had known about all the <em>other</em> stuff the Soul did, Beau didn’t know, and she supposed now, she would never find out. It was bad enough that she had sort of maybe grown to <em>like</em> the stuff that they did, like the martial arts, and some of the library stuff, and the questions she had formulated about her own research.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From a young age, Beau had been fascinated by the box, had always wanted to look at it, to try and figure it out for herself. The few times she’d tried, she’d gotten an earful for touching her father’s stuff. Now, here it was, sitting on her little brother’s bookshelf among a bunch of toys.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau didn’t think twice before putting it into her bag.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>The next few weeks – hell, the next few months – were rough. As much as Beau tried to throw herself into her training, into her research, she could not help but think of her parents, and her brother.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You are distracted,’ Dairon told her, after knocking Beau to the ground for what felt like the hundredth time in one session, though realistically, it was probably only the tenth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t exactly a helpful statement. Beau <em>knew</em> that she was distracted. She just didn’t know how to fix it. Instead, she approached it like she approached all of her problems. She let herself get beaten to shit at an underground fight club, and let a pretty half-elven woman with a clever tongue take care of her afterwards. Dairon didn’t say anything, but even they could not fail to notice the bruises that littered her body, face and neck in particular.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It all came to a head, though, when Beau vomited over a table full of artifacts that she was supposed to be dating, invalidating several weeks’ worth of work in digging up and sorting it. Loman Turray, herald of the Zadash Archive, would likely have eviscerated her, had Dairon not gotten there first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They dragged Beau to their office, and Beau was pretty sure she could see a vein about to burst on the elf’s forehead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Are you drunk?’ she demanded, after all but shoving Beau into the chair opposite a file-covered desk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No,’ Beau muttered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hungover, then.’ It wasn’t a question, and Beau didn’t bother to refute it, because it was true. ‘Does it help?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘For a little while,’ Beau admitted. Not nearly as long as she would like. The thing about dulling the pain was that it always managed to find its way back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I was not, ah…under the impression you were very close with your parents.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I wasn’t.’ That was the stupid thing. She didn’t know why she was feeling so sad about the whole thing. It hardly made any difference to her life, whether her parents were in it or not. Maybe it was because of her brother, or maybe because it highlighted just how little she was doing with herself, spending hours in the library or at a dig site without anything to show for it. <em>It can be a tedious existence</em>, Zeenoth had told her, when she’d decided to follow the path. She hadn’t realized just how right he was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a long pause. Beau knew if she broke it, and opened her mouth, she would probably end up vomiting again. ‘I think you should take some time off,’ Dairon said. ‘Work out what you want. Get things in order.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was talking about Kamordah, Beau realized. While Beau hadn’t said a single word of what Pumat Sol had told her to anyone, somehow, Dairon already knew. Apparently “gathering information” was just one of those things that spies were apparently pretty good at. Not that Beau would know, given that she had another six months to complete in the libraries and in the pits before they would even consider letting her be an Expositor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I…’ Beau frowned. Tried to figure out the best way to ask the question. ‘I have some personal projects that I’m working on. Is it alright to come and use the library for that?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dairon raised an eyebrow. Beau knew that working on personal projects was not the sort of thing that Dairon had in mind, but she would go stir crazy if she was sitting around doing nothing. ‘I just…I need to be doing something, otherwise it’ll get worse.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dairon’s stern, lined face seemed to soften. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘You are always welcome to train, if you wish. But if you come in with bruises from being punched in the face at one of those ridiculous fight clubs, then I will be sending you right back home.’ Beau nodded. That was fair. ‘Now go home. Drink some water. If you need anything…’ They trailed off, but Beau knew what they meant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She grabbed her bag from her locker, and did her best to avoid the Archivist room. The last thing she needed was Zeenoth’s quietly disapproving stare.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Home was a tiny apartment in the Innerstead Sprawl, not far from the Archive. Beau almost always walked home, mostly because parking at the Archive was a pain in the ass, and it wasn’t as though she got paid enough to afford gas.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she opened the door, there was a white envelope on the doormat, bearing the logo of Pumat Sol and Associates. Beau winced. She had maybe been ignoring Pumat’s calls. And his emails. And all the messages that he left on voicemail.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau tore the letter open, and read it. <em>Blah blah blah administration is continuing, legal obligation to put advertisements in the paper to see if any debts are owed, blah blah blah, ensuring all tax matters are finalized.</em> Nothing that she necessarily needed to worry about. She screwed the letter up into a ball, and chucked it into the bin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>After that, she poured herself a very large glass of water, and went to her desk.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To an outsider, it looked like a clusterfuck.  There was a large corkboard with lots of printouts from the internet, and photocopies of books that she had picked up from the library about the Elvish language.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While her Elvish was decent, it wasn’t as good as her Halfling, or even her Undercommon, because the thing about Elvish was that most elves tended to just speak Common, so there wasn’t a great deal of opportunity to practice it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The lockbox that she had taken from her father’s house was sitting on the desk itself, frustrating in its refusal to open. Beau had thought, perhaps, that in translating the text on the box, she might find a clue, but the text only told the story of the person who owned the box, an elven mage called Halas. A couple of the books she’d found in the library pinned him down as having lived during the Age of Arcanum. So it was pretty fucking old.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was getting closer and closer to figuring out how to open it. Once, a week or so ago, she’d managed to get one of the cogs to move, but hadn’t figured out where to go after that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With nothing to do during the day anymore, that was what she spent her time on. At night, she still went to the bar, but avoided the fight club, and the few times that she trained with Dairon, she was a little more focused. Letting her work on her own project, a project with a discrete and measurable outcome, had clearly had the desired effect of keeping her grounded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a week before she managed to crack the box. Turn the dial on the top, flip the switch on the base, wait for the right alignment of planets…Okay, so she kind of maybe forgot the actual steps she’d taken to get it open. There was something strangely amusing about the fact that she probably would have gotten it open sooner if her mind didn’t jump off onto different tangents every step of the way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was nothing inside.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay, that wasn’t exactly true.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the lid, and the sides and the base of the box, there were engravings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The main engraving was comprised of a series of circles, some large and some small, some with rectangles joining them. Several of the circles had triangles around the circumference, and one or two had smaller circles inside of them. One of the circles had a large star in its center.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t a sigil. It was too haphazard, too unplanned for a sigil. It was a map.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not just a map. In addition to the shapes, there was text in that same archaic Elvish dialect. It would take her a while to translate it, but…But, it was progress. <em>Amazing</em> progress, really. Beau knew that if she had asked for help, she would have been able to solve it much sooner, but help wasn’t really one of those things that she liked asking for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Now, all she had to do was figure out what it pointed to.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>It was late.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was late, and Beau technically wasn’t supposed to be here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wasn’t <em>banned</em> from being there, but generally, even Cobalt Soul members had to have a pretty good reason to be in the library after midnight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were a dozen or so books spread out across the table, and at this point, Beau was certain she knew everything there was to know about Elvish cities throughout the history of Exandria. There was Syngorn, on Tal’Dorei, but that was a modern city that didn’t have any ruins to speak of, and none of the maps she could find matched up with the one in the box. The two other modern cities that intrigued Beau were Uthodurn, and Baeses Tyl. Not because they had any geography that was indicative of the map, but because they were both founded in part, with refugees from Molaesmyr.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau didn’t know a huge amount about Molaesmyr off the top of her head. She knew that it had been destroyed centuries ago, but that was about it. How or why it had been destroyed, the books did not say. All that was said was that a dark corruption had overtaken the city, and its inhabitants fled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was pretty sure that the Cobalt Soul had sent a few expeditions into Molaesmyr, but those had been so restricted that Beau hadn’t stood a chance of getting to go. If they had sent an expedition there, then they would have drone footage. An aerial view of the city. Or at least, what remained of the city.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was the sort of information that Beau didn’t have access to. Or at least, she wasn’t supposed to have access to. But she was nothing if not resourceful. An hour or so later, she had a flash drive loaded with data that would almost certainly get her fired if she was found out, but that hardly seemed to matter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was going to Molaesmyr.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Beau packed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’d never done something like this before, so she wasn’t quite sure what to take. Her dig tool kit, for one; shovels, trowels, clippers, brushes, bags. The sort of thing that airport security was definitely going to raise an eyebrow at. First aid kit, head lamp, cooking gear. The sort of stuff she’d taken camping when she and Tori had been dating a few years back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A good knife. The sort of thing that she could kill a guy with, if it came down to it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hopefully it wouldn’t come down to it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once her rucksack was looking decently full, Beau made some phone calls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first, was to Pumat Sol.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Pumat Sol and Associates, this is Pumat.</em>’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hi, Pumat, this is Beauregard Lionett.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Oh, hi. Just wait one moment, you don’t have the right firbolg.</em>’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau blanked. ‘You’re not Pumat Sol?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Oh, no, I am Pumat Sol. I’m Pumat Sol’s brother</em>.’ What the fuck?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘There are two of you, and you’re both called Pumat Sol?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Oh, of course not.</em>’ Beau breathed a sigh of relief. For a moment she thought she might’ve been going crazy. ‘<em>There are four of us</em>.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Right. ‘Okay, well…can you tell…Pumat Sol that I’m going away from a bit, and I may be out of contact for a while. He can leave messages, but I don’t have any guarantee of when I’ll get them.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Well I can certainly tell him that for you Miss Lionett</em>,’ Pumat Two said. Beau shook her head. She wasn’t even going to ask what the fuck was going there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next call she made was to Dairon. ‘I’m going away for a bit,’ she said, by way of greeting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Is this your way of asking for time off?</em>’ Dairon sounded vaguely amused, which was a good sign. If she’d sounded mysterious and hard to read, then Beau would have had a problem.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yes.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Hmmm</em>. <em>Might I suggest – for no particular reason – that you should steer clear of Shadycreek Run. But, if you do end up there, then you should be very, very careful</em>.’ Beau stared at the phone. Some days she was almost certain that Dairon was psychic.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, if I decide to do that, then I will keep that in mind,’ she said.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>
  <em>Shadycreek Run</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Three days later</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>It was fucking cold.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Cold, and wet, and altogether unpleasant. She hadn’t ignored Dairon’s warning about staying clear of Shadycreek Run, but seeing as how it was the only city before the Savalirwood, and the path to Molaesmyr, she didn’t really have much of a choice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She knew, of course, what Dairon <em>really</em> meant by “don’t go to Shadycreek Run,” which was, “don’t go through the Savalirwood to the Ruins of Molaesmyr because it’s dangerous and you’re going to get yourself killed,” but Dairon was more one for disapproving glares than outright explanations of why she didn’t want Beau to do one thing or another. It was very frustrating, and of course, no small part of the reason why Beau was desperate to get out of the organization that had trained her. For a while now, she’d been building up her resources to try and strike out on her on. Unfortunately, “weird history with a side of digging up corpses and translating ancient languages” was a hard field to get work in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From the second that she stepped inside, Beau could tell that the <em>Landlocked Lady</em> was a seedy sort of place, and, if she was so inclined, she could probably get a lot more than just food or drinks there. Though it was kind of tempting (it had been a while since she and Tori had gone their separate ways), there were far more important things at hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What she <em>would</em> need was to hire someone to help her get out to Molaesmyr, someone that didn’t seem as though they would whack her across the back of the head with their gun and sell her kidneys on the black market.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This seemed like the sort of place where anyone Beau asked would probably be willing to make a quick buck. She had pawned the jade necklace, just so she had the cash to pay for it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In one corner, there was a dangerous looking half-orc, with dangerous looking tusks. Beau had barely glanced in his direction before he let out a snarl, and she kept on looking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In another corner, there was a halfling man. Small, and lithe, and quiet, but Beau had long since learned that none of those things were an impediment to being deadly. There was an instructor at the Cobalt Soul – Tubo – that could wipe the floor with her, even though he was two feet shorter, and a decent amount lighter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau wasn’t one to judge on appearances, but she was fairly sure that someone like that would be very quick to rob her in the middle of the night, and considering she had the lockbox in her backpack, she didn’t want that to happen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau’s eyes kept scanning the room, before suddenly, she stopped on a table that was less than six feet away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The woman sitting at it looked strong, pale skin molded around a nicely curved tricep that was only accentuated by the cut of her muscle shirt. Her long, black hair was tied into a series of intricate looking braids, that looked as though they had been in for some time. In addition to the muscle shirt, she was wearing black boots, and black cargo pants; even without the outfit, Beau would have been able to tell she was ex-military. Something about the way she held herself. She’d certainly run into her own fair share of both ex and current soldiers during her time at the Cobalt Soul, but none of them were this hot. Slung over her chair was a brown leather jacket, with a fur trim up around the neck. There was a Xhorhasian flag patch on one of the shoulders, and another that read “2<sup>nd</sup> Battalion Parachute Regiment,” the words embroidered above a stylized angel wing, and below the wing, the word “Orphanmaker.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Can I help you?’ The giant of a woman asked, interrupted Beau’s staring. Beau jumped backwards.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘’sup, Orphanmaker,’ she said, before she could stop herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The woman followed Beau’s gaze to the jacket, and the patches. Something seemed to change in her expression. Something almost…uncomfortably sad. Apropos of any of that, Beau noticed that the woman had two different colored eyes. ‘I need to take those off,’ she muttered, snatching the jacket off the back of the chair. Beau was worried that she had somehow offended the woman. She was pretty good at offending people without meaning to. And sometimes also pretty good at offending people on purpose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I—sorry, that was a dumb thing for me to do,’ Beau said, quickly, moving to sit on an empty chair at the table. ‘I’m not very good at talking to people.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The woman appraised her for several seconds. ‘That’s fine,’ she said, in a flat sort of voice that didn’t betray any emotion.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Can I buy you a drink to say sorry?’ <em>No harm in shooting your shot</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The woman opened her mouth – probably to say no – but before she could speak, a bright purple tiefling wearing an obnoxiously loud blazer swooped in from the side. ‘Remember what I told you, Yasha?’ he said, plonking himself down next to the woman, who, presumably, was Yasha. ‘Someone offers to buy you a drink, you say<em> yes</em>.’ He turned to Beau. ‘She’ll have the finest scotch you can afford.  I’ll have the same.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau almost said something, but decided against it. She gave the tiefling a look that would have shattered glass, and went to the bar. They didn’t have a great deal in the way of expensive whiskey, but there was an eighteen-year single malt that looked decent enough. Beau ordered two on the rocks. She returned to the table, and set one in front of Yasha, and took the other for herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Rude</em>,’ the tiefling said, but he was still grinning. Beau stared at him. His blazer was…a lot. It would not have been sufficient to call it mere paisley; there was paisley, and there was brocade, and there was chinoiserie, all in a mix of colors and materials that didn’t look like they should work, but somehow did. It was completely different from anything that anyone else was wearing in the tavern, and probably in the town itself. Beau was entirely sure that was the point. ‘So, are you here to flirt, or are you here to do business?’ Beau choked on her whiskey slightly, but recovered quickly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Little bit of both,’ she said, and gave Yasha a wink. Yasha’s expression did not change, but she took a small sip of the whiskey. ‘Are you two mercenaries?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘We are indeed,’ the tiefling said, cheerfully. ‘We guide, we bodyguard, we do all manner of things.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘How much would it cost to hire you? To join me on an expedition to the Ruins of Molaesmyr? You know, guide, bodyguard…Maybe hold me while I sleep at night.’ Beau was trying to get something of a rise out of Yasha – to find something that would get her to crack even the smallest smile. Next to her, the tiefling gagged.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, that’s an extra charge. I do do that, though.’ Yasha’s voice was still deadpan, and Beau couldn’t tell whether or not she was serious. Still, worth a try.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘How much?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Five hundred gold.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Five hundred gold?</em>’ Beau had known that it would be expensive to hire outside help, but five hundred gold was a lot. It seemed immaterial that she had recently come into several hundred thousand gold, even if she hadn’t actually received it yet. It was the principle of the thing, after all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘These arms are worth a lot.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau rolled her eyes, but inside she was kind of grinning. They were very nice arms, after all. Very muscular. Okay, now she was staring.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The purple asshole next to Yasha interjected. ‘Of course, we are a package deal. Inseparable, me and Yasha. Been together since she dug me out of the dirt two years ago.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Tell you what.’ Beau winked. ‘Five hundred each, for the two of you, or two thousand if I get to take you and leave him behind.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha gave the tiefling an appraising sort of look, and for a moment, she looked like she was considering it. ‘Oh, come <em>on</em>,’ he said, exasperated. ‘Don’t tell me you’re thinking about it.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sorry,’ Yasha said, turning back to Beau. ‘I don’t go anywhere without him.’ A triumphant look crossed Molly’s face.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Ah, well.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>‘Fine.’ Beau sighed. ‘Five hundred each for the you and the asshole. Half up front, half when I don’t die.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The tiefling snorted. ‘I <em>do</em> have a name.’ He gave an outrageously over-the-top, maybe a little bit sarcastic bow. ‘Mollymauk Tealeaf, at your service.’</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>‘Beauregard,’ Beau said, deciding against giving her surname. The Lionett name was…not necessarily well-known, but it wouldn’t take too much digging to find out that they had recently died in a plane crash, leaving their fortune to their sole-surviving child. Still, the fact that she had walked into a bar, and almost immediately offered them a thousand gold to help her on an expedition was probably suspicious enough in itself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She reached into her bag, and pulled out a largish pouch, setting it on the table. ‘There’s five hundred gold in that,’ she told them. ‘But I can’t tell you what it is until you decide you’re in. Don’t want anyone else infringing on my discoveries, you know?’ Molly had already reached out a hand for the bag. He pulled it back, and looked to Yasha.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What do you think?’ he asked, seemingly not caring whether or not Beau was listening.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘She does look very trustworthy,’ Yasha said, in a deadpan voice. It took Beau half a second to realize that it was a joke. She grinned, and Yasha gave her a slight grin in return. ‘We will do it,’ she said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alright. Okay. That was good. That was something. Now, with any luck, she wasn’t going to die. Now, she actually had to tell them the story. That called for another drink.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau flagged down the bartender, and ordered a round of beers. She was pretty sure if she kept on the whiskey, it was going to be a bad night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Both Molly and Yasha were a captive audience, waiting for Beau to explain exactly what it was she wanted them to do.</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>‘So, I…came across this ancient lockbox,’ Beau started, and before she could go any further, Molly had interjected.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Is it really old, or did you get scammed by one of those sellers on eBay, claiming it’s an “original Age of Arcanum artefact” as an excuse to try and make a few thousand gold off of some unsuspecting rich idiot?’ Beau wasn’t sure whether Molly was trying to be a condescending ass, but he was accomplishing it nonetheless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stared at him. ‘Well, first of all, I didn’t buy it, I found it in my parent’s house after they died in a plane crash and left everything to me.’ She didn’t care nearly as much about that fact as she wanted him to think, and to her delight, he immediately looked very slightly abashed. Too late, she remembered she was trying to be incognito. ‘Secondly, it had all the key indicators of an artefact from early Elven civilization, including methods of engraving that are no longer in modern use, and a dialect of Elvish that narrows it down to a very specific time frame.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘How do you know?’ Yasha asked. Somehow, her words sounded far less accusatory than Molly’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, we know that the majority of elves didn’t come back Exandria until after the Calamity, and there are some phrases on the box that indicate the Gods hadn’t yet been sealed away. There were more than a few Elven mages that were big news during the Age of Arcanum, and the box talks about one who got a little too excited about trying to live forever.’ Beau took a long swig of beer. ‘The elf in question is confirmed by historians to have lived during the Age of Arcanum a little over two and a half thousand years ago.’ Another pause for effect. ‘Then I took it to a lab, and they did radiocarbon dating to confirm that it’s almost three thousand years old.’  She thought it would be a little crass to say, “I took it to some people who are much smarter than you, and they told me it was really fucking old.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly was frustratingly unperturbed by what Beau had considered something of a mic drop. Yasha seemed like she looked a little impressed, but it was hard to tell. She might’ve just been thinking about what she wanted for dinner.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Look, I’m just trying to make sure we don’t get scammed, okay?’ Beau raised an eyebrow. She was certain beyond belief that Mollymauk Tealeaf had spent a good portion of his life scamming people, and it was a bit rich of him to accuse her of being untrustworthy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I literally just gave you both two hundred and fifty gold. How would <em>you</em> be getting scammed?’ She didn’t trust them. Of course she didn’t trust them. But there were no mercenaries in Shadycreek Run or anywhere else in Wildemount that would do what she needed them to do with no questions asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Fair point,’ Molly conceded. He raised his tankard, and gave her a wink, before downing the rest of his beer. Beau tried not to gag. ‘Anyway, I managed to crack the lockbox.’ She paused slightly, waiting to see if Molly would make a comment. He didn’t, thankfully, and Beau continued. ‘In it, I found an old map. Etched in stone,’ she added, before he could make a comment about whether or not paper would have disintegrated. ‘I cross-referenced with other maps from a similar time period, and came to the conclusion that whatever the map was pointing to is somewhere in the ruins of Molaesmyr.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘And what <em>is</em> the map pointing to?’ Yasha asked. She was eying Beau curiously, as though she didn’t quite believe the story. Beau wasn’t surprised. She was kind of used to people not believing her when she was being entirely sincere.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shrugged. ‘Not sure, yet,’ she said. If people weren’t going to believe her, then she might as well use that to her advantage. No point on giving away the details of her suspicions to the people she had literally <em>just</em> met. She’d already given away too much. ‘Kinda want to find out though. Could be treasure, could be nothing.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly was staring inscrutably, and Beau averted her gaze. Not because she had anything to hide, but because she’d never really been good at the “eye contact” thing. Her eyes dropped to Yasha’s side, landing on a holstered gun. It was a decent caliber one, too; a .45 that some weapons enthusiasts nicknamed “The Magician’s Judge.” Beau wasn’t entirely sure why, given that there were hardly any magician’s left in the world, and most of them were defenseless enough that you could kill them with a well-placed punch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You carry a gun?’ she asked, sounding for all the world like a naïve little kid. It wasn’t that she was surprised. It was more that she was surprised that the bar would allow it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It is always good practice to be careful,’ Yasha said, evenly. ‘Is that a problem?’ There was something vaguely threatening about those words, and if Beau weren’t so overcome with mild lust, she might have been intimidated. Of course, she <em>was</em> intimidated, just in a different way, and for different reasons.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Not even a little bit,’ Beau said. ‘Is it something that you’re likely to need in the Savalirwood?’ She was curious as to what sort of creatures they might find in there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Yasha said, shortly. Well that was great.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Can you use a gun?’ Molly asked. He flashed open his jacket (Beau had to stop herself from turning away) to show his own weapon. It was a little flashier than Yasha’s, and according to the firearms instructor at the Cobalt Soul, prone to jamming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah, I’ve fired one a few times.’ Once a week, for five years. Not that that helped with her aim much. She much preferred her bare hands. But, sparring in the ring, rolling on the mats, shooting at the firing range, they were all very different to what she knew she was going to face. The <em>Landlocked Lady</em> was her Rubicon, though that reference probably wouldn’t mean much to anyone that wasn’t well-versed in Julous Dominion history. Once they embarked on their journey to Molaesmyr, there would be no turning back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Good,’ Molly said. ‘’cos the things we run into in those woods…you’re gonna need one.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Great,’ Beau said. ‘When do we leave?’</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>They spent the rest of the night drinking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It would be stupid to leave at night, and in any case, Beau wanted to get to know her traveling companions a little better before she set out on a dangerous journey with them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau wasn’t gonna say no when Molly offered to buy a round, and one round turned into two, then three, and then four. Molly was presently at the bar, chatting up a half-elf with long blonde hair, the fifth round sitting beside him, clearly forgotten.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That left Beau with Yasha, and Beau sure as hell wasn’t complaining about that. It was pretty clear that Yasha wasn’t interested in having a good time (at least not with Beau), but she was far less abrasive than Molly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were long periods of silence between them as they drank, Beau going over everything in her head, trying to put together some puzzle pieces that didn’t quite have a place yet. Like “what was she going to find in Molaesmyr” and “Were Molly and Yasha going to slit her throat and run in the middle of the night.” Her gut said “no,” but then, her gut had been wrong before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha seemed to be ruminating on something. ‘Did your parents really die?’ she asked, finally. Beau was vaguely amused. It was the same sort of blunt, direct question that she had gotten into trouble for herself, so many times, and yet she could tell that Yasha was actually trying to be compassionate, in one way or another.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah,’ Beau nodded. ‘About six months ago. Died in a plane crash.’ She didn’t bother going into details about how there had been an investigation by the Dwendalian Empire Civil Aviation Authority as to the cause of the crash, and that while foul play was suspected, there were still questions as to who had been responsible. Beau had undergone no small amount of questioning by both the DECAA, and various federal agencies, before they had been forced to conclude that she had no involvement whatsoever. The worst part of it was, Beau hadn’t even known she had a brother until after he was already dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh. I’m sorry.’ Again, that flat, deadpan sort of voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shrugged. ‘Don’t be. They weren’t great parents.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Do you have anyone else?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Yes,</em> Beau started to say, and then stopped herself. Who <em>did</em> she have, really? There was no extended family (at least not any that she knew about), and she wasn’t particularly close to any of her fellow Cobalt Soul students or colleagues. At most, she could probably say she was on good terms with Dairon, but somehow, she didn’t think that martial arts coach slash mentor slash boss was the sort of answer that Yasha was looking for.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Nope,’ Beau said. ‘But, you know…I’m used to being alone. I’m a loner. You?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha looked startled. Though she was the one that had broached the subject, she clearly hadn’t expected it to be turned back around on her. ‘I have Molly,’ she said, slowly. ‘I had family once, but, ah…that was a long time ago.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau raised an eyebrow. Yasha looked like she was in her late twenties – certainly not old enough for anything to have been “a long time ago.” ‘How old are you?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Twenty-eight.’ For being so young, she did seem like she had a world of experience. Certainly more life experience than Beau had, and Beau was only five years younger.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly returned, looking slightly upset, but not even remotely perturbed. ‘Now that we’re good and wasted,’ he said, cheerfully. ‘Do you want to tell exactly how much you know about Molaesmyr?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau realized suddenly, through her haze of tipsiness, that there had been a reason he had bought so much alcohol. He clearly hoped that she would be far more forthcoming while drunk than she had been sober. As though she hadn’t already given way more than she should have. Dairon would have killed her for being so careless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You wanna go up to your room?’ The question was technically directed at Molly, but she gave a wink to Yasha anyway. Though Yasha didn’t roll her eyes, Beau was fairly sure that the disdain was implied. It was a pity. She usually had a pretty good success rate when inviting herself to strange women’s bedrooms.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Nothing weird,’ Beau said. ‘Pinky promise.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They went upstairs, and Beau showed them some of what she had taken from the Cobalt Soul network.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Where did you get these?’ Molly demanded. He had spread the several dozen aerial shots of Molaesmyr across the bed. Beau stared at him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You really think I’d tell you that?’ She had taken them off the server using a stolen password. Zeenoth’s password, rather than Dairon’s, because Dairon would not hesitate before committing murder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even still, Beau was sure that an expulsion would be waiting for her on her return to Zadash. Strangely, the idea worried her less than it would have a year ago. She had come to realize that, though she enjoyed going out into the world, and gathering information, her goals didn’t quite align with that of the Soul. For one thing, they frowned on her desire to put the information she found out into the world, and her desire to return artefacts to their rightful owners. Admittedly, she was a little slower about that than she could have been, plus, given the number of civilizations that had already been wiped out, there wasn’t always a rightful owner to give things back to.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Can you get more?’ he asked, curiously. ‘Of other sites?’ <em>Probably not, </em>was the honest answer, but then, there were lots of different ways of doing things.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Depends on what you can offer me.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly barked a laugh. ‘Strangely, I get the idea that we are very much not each other’s types.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘That is one thing we can definitely agree on,’ Beau said. ‘On the other hand…’ She gave Yasha a look, and Yasha turned away, rather than have to think of a way to respond.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau was feeling more driven than she had in months. In <em>years</em>, if she was honest. There was just something so much more…exciting about the idea of going into an unknown place, in search of history.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She booked a room in the <em>Landlocked Lady</em>, deciding that it would be rude of her to ask Molly and Yasha if she could stay with them. In any case, they would definitely be seeing a lot more of each other over the next couple of weeks. There was no road through the Savalirwood, and barely even a path. It would take a few days to even make it to Molaesmyr.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau resisted the temptation to ask about companionship. Not that she’d never done that sort of thing before, more that she knew she wanted to have a good night’s sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They were going to have an early start.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here, more than anywhere else, you can see the shades of the blatant Tomb Raider AU.  Also, fuck timelines.</p>
<p>Please review, because oh god I had to do so much research.</p>
<p>You can find me at thefriendlymurderer.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Run (Part Two)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>VII – The Run (Part Two)</p>
<p>It was still dark when Yasha woke.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unsurprising, given how far north they were. She knew from experience that at this time of year, the days were short, which meant that, if they didn’t want to travel at night (which they didn’t), then it would take a little longer to get to Molaesmyr than if they had gone even two months ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she went downstairs for breakfast, she was surprised to find Beauregard already there, halfway through a reasonably sized breakfast. Yasha frowned at the line of sweat across her brow, and the tank-top she was wearing. ‘Oh, hey.’ Beauregard gave a grin. ‘Pull up a chair, have some bacon.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It is…early,’ Yasha commented. She sat down opposite Beauregard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah, I did a quick work-out,’ Beauregard said. Yasha was fairly certain she was flexing her biceps on purpose, and couldn’t quite help but stare perhaps a little longer than was appropriate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It seemed a strange time and place to be working out. Shadycreek Run was dangerous at the best of times, but early in the morning before the sun had risen was probably one of the most dangerous. The Unions, the Tribes and the Grudge Gang all claimed to want to curb violence (or at least privatize violence), but somehow, every few days, bodies turned up in alleyways, or in parks, or on the side of the road. It was just a side effect of living here.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You should not venture out on your own.’ Yasha had not meant to sound so concerned, and Beauregard raised an amused sort of eyebrow in response. Yasha noticed, suddenly, her eyes. She would not have expected eyes of such a bright blue, and yet there they were, piercing with a focus that Yasha would not have expected from one so young. Not that she was much older.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I can take care of myself.’ Comprised as the other woman was with bravado, and perhaps a little bit of swagger, there was clearly some truth behind those words. Though she was not a soldier, she held herself in such a way that suggested she was more than just a researcher.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I…’ Yasha faltered. ‘I would not want to lose out on the second half of my payment, Beauregard.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beauregard winked. ‘You can just call me “Beau.” The only person who calls me Beauregard is my boss.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Where do you work?’ Yasha asked. She was trying her best to avoid the more overt of the come ons. Not that she wasn’t flattered. She could not afford to get distracted on a job. Not with a person she was never going to see again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You ever heard of the Cobalt Soul?’ Yasha <em>had</em> heard of the Cobalt Soul, but admittedly, she did not know much about them. Just that they were collectors and protectors of history and other kinds of information. There was a large Cobalt Soul library in Rexxentrum (not that she had ever been there).</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Ah, yes. Are you a librarian?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Something like that,’ Beau said, in an offhand sort of voice. ‘A bit of library stuff, a bit of language stuff, a bit of archaeology stuff. A few other things. I’m kinda a jack of all trades, so to speak.’ Yasha could relate to that. She had a wide variety of skills herself. Somehow, though, she did not think that there was a great deal of overlap between Beau’s skillset, and her own. Yasha was fairly certain that she had never even set foot in a library. ‘I’ll let you read my theses if you want.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Maybe some other time.’ Yasha had no plans of reading any theses. Not that she didn’t read. She was just fairly certain that there would be very little overlap. After all, she did not do the mercenary thing out of an interest in history.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau’s face fell a little bit, and Yasha could not help but feel some guilt. She wasn’t sure why. After almost two years of mercenary work, she had learned to distance herself from clients. It made it easier if they ended up dead. There had been some who flirted with her, some who ignored her, some who were intimidated by her. There had been so many, in fact, that Yasha did not remember most of them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was sure, in six months or so, she would not remember Beauregard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly did not wake for another hour, and he breakfasted with seeming ignorance to the fact that Beau was growing more and more antsy. The librarian <em>had</em> said that there was not a great deal of time urgency, that it had been waiting there for hundreds of years, and would wait a little longer. Yasha got the distinct impression that her annoyance was more at Mollymauk’s attitude, than at the delay. She gave him a reproachful sort of look. Just because he didn’t like their client didn’t mean he had to be an asshole about it, but then if there was one thing that Molly liked more than anything, it was pushing peoples’ buttons.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Finally, he pushed his plate away, and pulled out the large map of the Savalirwood that they kept for occasions such as this. It had been hand-drawn, and contained many notations of the things they had seen, and where they had seen them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So,’ Molly said, as he spread out the map. ‘You want to get here.’ He pointed to the top of the map. ‘Right now, we’re down here.’ He pointed to the bottom of the map. ‘There are lots of nasty things in the middle that we want to avoid. He tapped his finger on a small square just above the bottom. ‘Ophelia Mardun has a base here, and we want to avoid her.’ Another finger, closer to the middle. ‘Here’s the Sour Nest, which we <em>definitely </em>do not want to go anywhere near.’ Molly’s experience with Ophelia Mardun, and with the Iron Shepherds were both before Yasha’s time. Molly had so far refused to go into detail, and she was pretty sure that he had actually forgotten, like he had forgotten so many other things. ‘And here.’ A spot a little way above Ophelia Mardun’s base. ‘The Blooming Grove.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau raised an eyebrow. ‘What’s the Blooming Grove?’ she asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Graveyard,’ Molly said, in an offhand sort of voice. ‘Or at least…well, no, I guess it still is. You used to be able to go and bury someone there if you really had to, but it’s been abandoned for years. Swallowed up by the woods, mostly.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Nice place for flowers,’ Yasha commented. ‘The tea is also very good.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Could be worth a look in,’ Beau said, seemingly intrigued. ‘If there’s one thing archaeologists like, it’s digging up bodies.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly stared at her. ‘I mean, it’s a <em>graveyard</em>,’ he said, in a faux scandalized sort of voice. ‘Would you really—’ Yasha gave him a look.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It was—’ Beau sighed. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘We don’t have to go to the Blooming Grove.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hey, you’re paying.’ Molly shrugged. ‘If you want to go be weird, I’m not gonna stop you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was just after nine by the time they set out. The sun had not yet been up long enough to melt the thin layer of frost that covered the branches of the gnarled trees that marked the edge of the Savalirwood. Already Yasha was wearing her jacket, and Molly had even deigned to wear a parka over the top of his trademark, multi-colored blazer. Beau, on the other hand, was wearing a dark blue, long-sleeved Henley shirt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Are you cold?’ Yasha asked, coming to a very sudden stop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stared at her. ‘No,’ she said. ‘My shirt, it’s ah…it’s a high-thread count. I’m good.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha was not sure that she believed Beau, but did not push matters. She hesitated. ‘Here,’ Yasha said, and handed Beau her pistol. ‘I think you should use this.’ She had her rifle, after all. It wouldn’t do any of them any good to go unarmed into the Savalirwood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau did not look particularly happy at the idea, but she took the gun. Yasha was suddenly taken with just how small her hands actually were. She was at least eight inches shorter than Yasha, but tended to hold herself in such a way that made her look much taller, a much more forceful presence. Beau checked the safety, and then pulled back the slide to check the chamber and the magazine. Then, she pointed it into the Savalirwood, away from Molly and Yasha to check the sight. While she did this, her finger was resting against the barrel, well away from the trigger. Her movements were a little sloppy, but she did seem to know what she was doing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You sure that’s not too big for you?’ Molly asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I don’t think you’d know anything about being too big for someone,’ Beau said. She seemed satisfied with the weapon. ‘Besides, for all you know I could be a size queen.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Alright, definitely TMI right now.’ Molly grimaced. Beau seemed unperturbed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Do you have a holster for this, or do I have to stick it down my pants?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly rolled his eyes, and walked away, clearly not wanting to be a part of…of whatever this was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Oh. Right. Yasha unclipped the holster from her belt, and handed it over. Beau’s belt did not seem quite up to the task of holding up the holster, and it sagged a little from the weight. Still, if it could protect her from the monsters that they would find in the Savalirwood, then it had done its job.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They started off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Though the morning had been bright enough, it was not long before the dark, twisted trees formed a near impenetrable canopy. Leaves, and roots, and animal remains rotted beneath their feet as they walked, forming a strangely soft path.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once or twice, they came across some forest creature that had been deformed by the magic that had corrupted the wood. Dead eyes, and slack jaws, and otherworldly moans. They gave a very wide berth to a patch of mushrooms that seemed to be emitting tendrils of smoke.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Creepy place,’ Beau said, half-grinning. They had stopped to camp not long after sundown, finding a crumbling Elven ruin. Beau had spent no small amount of time exploring what had once been a watchtower, taking photos, and looking for anything of interest. There wasn’t much; the place had long since been picked clean by other mercenaries, other archaeologists, other lowlifes. Its only purpose now was as a makeshift shelter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dinner had been a few handfuls of nuts, and cheese, and fruit. Nothing that they would need a fire for. In most places, fire would have been protection. Here, it was a target.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly had already rolled out his sleeping mat and bag, and was settling down to sleep. Yasha had agreed to take first watch. She had her rifle set across her knees.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau had set out her own mat and bag, but made no move to get in them. She sat on the ground a few feet from Yasha, and stared off into the woods.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It’s weird, right?’ she said, after several minutes of silence, clearly forgetting that Yasha could not read her mind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What is weird?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘All this magic, and yet no-one can use it.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh.’ As far as Yasha knew, she had never met anyone with magic. But there were parts of the world, like the Savalirwood, that were very magical. At some point, a long time ago, something had happened, and people no longer had magic. Beau was right. It was very weird. ‘Do you know what happened to it?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau snorted. ‘What, like I had something to do with it?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No, no, I—’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yash, I was joking.’ The nickname seemed to fall from her lips with ease, as though she’d used it a hundred times before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh.’ Yasha frowned. ‘I, ah…I am also not very good at talking to people.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau grinned. ‘Ah, well. We can suck together.’ She grimaced. ‘I’m sorry, that came out way grosser than I had intended.’ Yasha had not even noticed, until she had said something. ‘Anyway, the magic…I mean, how much do you know about the Age of Arcanum?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Not much,’ Yasha admitted. ‘There were mages, and they got too powerful, yes?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘That’s the gist of it. Mages get too powerful, accidentally release the Betrayer Gods, kickstart the Calamity, and leading to the creation of the Divine Gate. Things are a little disputed at this point, but some people say that the Gods decided that we weren’t worthy of having such powerful magic, so they took away from the world.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha watched as flower on a nearby shrub turned from red, to yellow, to blue. ‘I think they may have missed a bit.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah, no kidding. The going theory is that a fucking shitton of magic artifacts were left behind, and all that magic is kind of…leaking back, I guess. But then you have places like here, and Eiselcross, and a whole bunch of other ones, where there was so much magic to begin with…’ She trailed off. ‘I don’t know much about the magic stuff, but the history stuff is pretty cool.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha did not disagree. She did not know much about anything at all, but she liked to look at magic, and nature, and divine sorts of things. She found them fascinating in a way she could not put into words. Like the Savalirwood…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I know that it is supposed to be cursed,’ Yasha said. ‘But…it is quite nice in here.’ Beau gave her a quizzical look, so she elaborated. ‘Where I grew up, there was not a lot of plant-life, so I suppose I learned to appreciate grass…and trees, and flowers.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You appreciate grass?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I think so, I mean it’s a much softer ground to sit on.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau made an interested sort of sound. ‘Do you miss it? Xhorhas? You served in the military, right?’ She gestured towards Yasha’s jacket, zipped tight against the cold. Yasha had spent the previous evening after leaving the bar unstitching the patches that adorned it. She’d put them in her book, along with the flowers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Yasha said, to the second question, not the first. At least, she assumed that she had served in the military. There was a long stretch of missing memory there that she still hadn’t quite reconciled. ‘And…I don’t know if I miss it, but…there are some things I miss.’ She hesitated. It had taken her a long time of knowing Molly before she had told him about Zuala, and yet here she was, in the first week of knowing Beauregard, and wanting so much to tell her. The thing was…the things was, she didn’t want to make it seem like she was being rude, in being so unresponsive to the very blatant advances. Beauregard was very attractive, after all. It would be better to tell her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha plucked a flower from the shrub she had been staring at, and took it between her thumb and her forefinger. It had been bright red when she’d picked it, and was already starting to fade to orange at each of the petals. She pulled them away, one by one, watching as they fell to the ground, rather than look Beauregard in the eye. Each petal she pulled was a slightly different color, and did not change again. ‘I grew up in a Tribe called the Dolorav Tribe,’ she said. ‘We roamed the Iothia Moorlands, hunting, and fighting. In the Tribe, it was law that we would remain celibate until a mate was chosen for us.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Tough gig,’ Beau commented, and Yasha had the very distinct impression that celibacy would have been very difficult for Beauregard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘But then, I fell in love with someone that was not chosen for me,’ she said, and could not help but notice the way Beau’s face dropped slightly. ‘We got married.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh,’ Beau said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha continued, knowing that if she did not say it now, she would never be able to say it. ‘In the Tribe, the punishment for breaking the law was death. They…’ Her voice broke. ‘They killed her, and I ran away.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau put a soft hand on her back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘I’m so sorry.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha shook her head, still not daring to look up. There was nothing left of the flower now but a stem, multi-colored petals scattering the forest floor. ‘After that, I left. I wandered for some time, before heading north to the city. Then…’ She trailed off. Not because it was too painful to say what had happened next, but because she genuinely did not remember.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Do you know who you are?</em> the voice inside her head asked It sounded a bit like Zuala.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha knew the answer to that. It was an easy answer. Of course she didn’t know who she was. How could she possibly know who she was?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was after all, the reason why she and Molly had gotten along so well. Two lost souls with a past that they couldn’t remember. Five years after Zuala’s death, she had woken as if from a dream, with scars that she didn’t remember, and skills she didn’t know she’d had. All she had to give her any clue was a jacket with a couple of patches on it, and a book half-full of flowers she had no knowledge of collecting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She had done her research. The patches seemed easily traceable, giving a specific unit within the Xhorhasian military. It should have been easy enough to look up the records, to find out what had happened, only the records didn’t exist. All she found was other people with the same memory gap, the same inexplicable past. For a while she had tried to find answers, but very quickly came to the realization that perhaps she was better off not knowing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was silence, for a time. Beau did not seem sure how to respond to the revelation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Shit,’ Beau said, finally. ‘That’s…that makes my life look like a fucking party.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha laughed, in spite of herself. She knew that she had not had the best life. Everything that had happened, she was sure she was cursed, but somehow…things had been looking if not up, then at least steady the last couple of years.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Meeting Molly had helped. Someone who didn’t even blink at the horrible things she had done, who loved her just the same.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were a few minutes of silence, but it was a comfortable sort of silence.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hey, do you know what “Savalir” means in Elvish?’ Beau asked, seemingly out of nowhere.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha didn’t. She looked at Beau, questioningly. ‘It means guilt,’ Beau said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a long pause.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You should get some sleep,’ Yasha said, finally. Beau looked like she was going to argue, but then, as a yawn overtook her, she lay back down. ‘I will make sure that Molly wakes you for the final watch.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was not long before Yasha heard soft snores coming from Beau’s sleeping bag. She turned to the shrub with its everchanging flowers, and picked one more. Near the middle of her book, there was a blank page, with no other flowers there. She arranged it carefully, and, taking one last look at the sleeping figure lying six feet away, closed the book on petals of a brilliant blue.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Yasha’s sleep was not pleasant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It rarely was, when she ventured into the Savalirwood; there was something about the magics here that made shadowy whispers crawl into her mind. That said, though, she had enough unpleasant dreams normally that she had long since learned to ignore the dark portents.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This night, she dreamed of dark winged figures, of Zuala, and of lightning. Lightning was an ever-present theme in most of her dreams, ever since she had stepped from her fugue. That was as much of a mystery as the missing memories.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It felt like no sooner than she had gone to sleep that she was being roughly shaken by the shoulder. ‘Yasha.’ It was Beau’s voice, low and urgent. The eyes opened. Beau had a finger to her lips, and the gun – Yasha’s gun – drawn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Shit.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha did not even bother to ask what was happening. She put her hand to her side, and drew her rifle to her chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What is it?’ Molly whispered. He had drawn his own weapons; two flashy-looking pistols that were very much a case of form over function.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘We’ve got company,’ was all Beau said. It was a risk they had run, in camping next to the boulder. It gave them protection, but it also pinned them down, gave them no exit against dangers in the night. It was either fight or die.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘How many?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Three, so far.’ Beau did not look worried. She looked cautious, but she did not look worried. Things were not yet urgent enough that Yasha didn’t have the time to find that intriguing. ‘Just wolves, I think.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was both good news, and bad news. The bad news was that the animals of the Savalirwood had been long-corrupted by the dark magics that cursed the forest, twisting them into dangerous, bloodthirsty things. The good news was that not even being corrupted by magic was enough to make them smart enough to use any sort of strategy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Move on my mark,’ Yasha said, rifle scanning in front of her, looking for a target in the dark. She saw Molly nod. They were used to this. Beau said nothing, and before Yasha could speak again, the other woman was already on the move, firing at fast-moving shape. ‘Beau!’ she yelled, and after that, the next thirty seconds were chaos.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As always, combat was a bit of a blur for Yasha. She had designated the creatures – vicious, snarling wolves – as targets. She had designated Molly and Beau as allies. From that, everything seemed to move on muscle memory. A muscle memory that she did not recall ever obtaining.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The sound of gunfire brought more creatures to their location, the same snarling, disfigured wolves that must have been waiting further back in the shadows. Yasha had dropped four of them before the snarling stopped. For a second, she thought they were all dead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, she realized that one was still alive. Still alive, but with one of Beauregard’s arms wrapped around its neck, the other behind its head. With the arm around the neck, she gripped her opposite bicep. The wolf flailed beneath her hold, and, after a few more seconds, fell limp. Beau kicked it aside, stood, and fired two shots into its unmoving head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She stepped back, and holstered her gun. Her shirt was covered in blood, but Yasha was fairly sure that very little of it was her own. ‘We good?’ she said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha was staring. <em>Molly</em> was staring. That was something. ‘Beau,’ he said. ‘What the fuck was that?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Uh…rear naked choke?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You doing fucking pro-wrestling shit on mutated zombie monsters?’ he asked, exasperated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau snorted. ‘It’s not pro-wrestling, it’s MMA.’ She sounded offended. Then, her expression turned abashed as she realized that Yasha was staring at her. ‘I told you I wasn’t that good with a gun,’ she said, shrugging. ‘I’m a brawler.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Do you really think that brawling with, once again, mutated zombie monsters is gonna end well?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau brushed him off, rolling her eyes. ‘Look at that.’ She gestured off towards the horizon. ‘Sun’s gonna be up soon. How about we have some breakfast.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second day of travel was much the same as the first. More thick, heavy forest, more aggressive creatures, mutated by magic. In the morning, they fought off some creatures that seemed otherworldly in nature, Beau once more forgoing the gun to use her fists to punch a winged creature to death. In the afternoon, there were shadows of creatures that looked Elven in nature, assailing them with clawed hands, and dark energy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Wow.’ Beau threw herself to the ground, next to a fallen log. ‘You weren’t kidding about this place being dangerous.’ A parallel line of scratches ran from hairline to chin, where one of the creatures had swiped at her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You are bleeding,’ Yasha said, in case it had not been completely obvious. The blood was dripping down Beau’s face, and probably into her eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah.’ Beau made a sound that was half-gasp, half laugh. She rummaged through her bag, and pulled out a first aid kit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Would you…’ Yasha hesitated. ‘Would you like me to help?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Go for it.’ Beau tossed the kit to Yasha. It was surprisingly well-stocked, for a librarian. But, given the days events, given that Beau had attempted to backflip over and sucker-punch a ghost, Yasha was starting to come to terms with the idea that Beau was not a mere librarian.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha found some antiseptic wipes, and began to slowly, carefully (gently) clean the wound. It was quite deep, and if they had been anywhere near civilization, anywhere near the sort of place where it would have been possible to get it done, she would have recommended stitches. Even still, Beau was stiller than a statue, barely even wincing at the sting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You’ve done this before,’ Beau said. It wasn’t a question, but if it had been, Yasha wouldn’t quite know how to answer. She <em>had</em> done it before, but she could not remember learning. It simply came to her as easily as eating, or breathing, or sleeping.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yes,’ was all she said. She frowned. The blood-flow was not slowing. She took off her jacket, and cut away some of the sleeve. ‘Here.’ She handed the scrap of material to Beau. ‘Hold that against your face.’ Beau obeyed without question. Yasha almost made a snarky sort of comment, but realized that they were not quite there yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the bottom of the first aid kit, Yasha found a needle and thread, and alcohol for disinfectant. If it hadn’t been there, she had the same supplies in her own kit. She realized, suddenly, that there were no tweezers in Beau’s kit, and she would have to get her own anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Stay there.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘This is what happens when you get all “close quarters,”’ Molly was saying. He pulled a flask from his own pack, and handed it to Beau.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Fuck off,’ Beau said, but there was not much heat to her words. She took the proffered flask, and had a long swig. ‘This is nothing.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly raised an eyebrow. ‘You get scratched in the face often?’ Yasha could not help but eavesdrop as she tried to find her first aid kit. There had been so little need for it lately, that it had somehow migrated to the bottom of her pack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Look me up on YouTube,’ Beau said. ‘Get to watch me beat the shit out of people for hours on end. Sometimes they get a lucky shot in.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Let me guess, you’re the heel.’ Beau responded by flashing a very rude gesture in Molly’s direction, but Yasha could see that she was smiling.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Nah.’ Yasha moved Beau’s hand, and the shirt scrap away from the wound, and cleaned it once more. Then, she took the sterilized needle, thread, and tweezers, and began to stitch. Beau, to her credit, did not flinch as the needle pierced skin. ‘Got a coupla trophies, though.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hmm.’ Molly was intrigued. ‘I’ll have to look you up. What was your surname?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau froze, suddenly. Yasha could feel her whole body go tense underneath the needle. They were so close to each other that Yasha was sure she could hear the <em>thump, thump, thump</em> of Beau’s heart, a fast drumming beat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Lionett,’ she said, after a very long silence. Yasha was glad she had such a tight grip on the needle, otherwise she might have dropped it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Lionett,’ Molly laughed. ‘Are you fucking kidding me? As in, <em>Lionett</em> Lionett, as in <em>more money than fucking Waukeen</em>, Lionett?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha pulled back. Not because she was startled, but because Beau had started squirming uncomfortably. ‘Yeah,’ she said, looking very sullen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau had said, quite readily, that her parents had died in a plane crash. Yasha had seen it on the news; it had been the top story for all of two hours, before it had been pushed out by news of bloody skirmishes along the border. There were Lionett Wines in every bar and tavern from Shadycreek Run right down to Port Damali, and the company were known to have various fingers in various pies.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>For all that, though, Beau didn’t particularly look like a rich kid. Yasha had met rich kids. More than once, one had come to her with a sob story about losing Daddy’s favorite sword, and needing to get it back, or asking whether she would be willing to kill someone for money (she wasn’t). For one thing, Beau wasn’t dressed like a rich kid. She was wearing a different Henley today – grey this time, instead of blue – and her cargo pants looked like they’d been darned in several places.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘We—’ Beau started. Paused. Frowned. ‘We didn’t really get along.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Shit, Yasha, we should have asked for ten thousand!’ Yasha could tell that Molly didn’t mean it that way, but she shot him a look anyway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Is this why you’re going to Molaesmyr?’ Yasha asked. ‘Because of them?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Beau said. Her frown deepened. ‘No. Maybe. I don’t know. I just know I found the box, and instead of lying around feeling sorry for myself, I saw a mystery that I needed to solve. Honestly, I don’t really want to think about them at all.’ She went very silent then, and Yasha moved in to continue stitching.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You’ve done this before,’ she said, as she put away the needle and thread. Beau stared at her, apparently forgetting her own words form just a few minutes ago. Yasha gestured towards the stitches. ‘You did not flinch.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh. Yeah.’ Beau was staring at the ground. ‘Punched in the face a lot. Lots of ringside stitches. Doctors were never this good-looking, though.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Careful,’ Yasha said, warningly, though for the first time in a long time, she found herself smiling warmly. A little unsure, Beau smiled back. ‘I may forget to be gentle next time.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was after midnight when Yasha finally went to bed, and when she did, she slept the whole night through.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This flashback was supposed to be one part. Now, it's at least three. We'll see.</p>
<p>As always, please review. Tell me what you liked, tell me what  you want to see more of.</p>
<p>Find me on tumblr at thefriendlymurderer.tumblr.com . I will occasionally post snippets of what I'm working on.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Run (Part Three)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>VIII – The Run (Part Three)</p>
<p>Beau woke early.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She would be lying if she said she wasn’t sort of overcome with a childish sort of anticipation, the kind she’d only ever really had before birthdays, or before Barren Eve when she was much, much younger. Of course, that feeling had faded once she was old enough to realize that her parents didn’t care about her enough to give any sort of thought to what she wanted on either of those days. One year she’d asked for a sword and gotten a dress. Another, she’d asked for a telescope, and gotten a needlepoint hoop. After that, she stopped asking for things. Admittedly, a sword <em>would </em>have been a pretty terrible gift for a six-year-old, but it was the principle of the thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even after her father came to terms with the fact that she was not going to be the perfect obedient daughter, and let her start helping out with the business, she was never allowed to do anything important, anything that might conceivably be considered useful in life. Everything useful, she’d learned at the Cobalt Soul.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly, to her surprise, was already awake. He was sitting a few feet from Yasha, and had a deck of cards out in front of him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You playing solitaire?’ she asked, stretching out in her sleeping bag. He gave her a look that made it seem like he was vaguely offended.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Pull up a patch of rotting forest floor, young Beau,’ he told her. ‘Let me show you the lost art of Tarot.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a bit like being stabbed, the way those words cut through her. Molly couldn’t have known – how could he possibly have known? – but it still made her feel a little sick to see them. ‘That’s like fortune-telling, yeah? Finding out peoples’ futures?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly gave a grin, and started on what seemed to be a well-practiced spiel. ‘Ah, but the cards don’t just show, the future, though, do they. They tell us things about the past that we didn’t know that we didn’t know. They open our eyes regarding the present, and the path that we’re on.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You ever think you could be doing damage, though? Setting people on false paths?’ Beau knew she shouldn’t be starting shit, right before they were about to make their final run in Molaesmyr, but she couldn’t help herself. How much of the shit in her life had happened because her Dad had trusted in some shitty woman that tried to fuck him over?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sometimes people are just looking for a path,’ Molly said. ‘I don’t put them on the path, I just tell them that the path is there.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau was not convinced. ‘Some people are vulnerable and looking for answers.’ She knew she was getting defensive, knew that she should have been smarter than to get involved in an argument that would have no winner. What Beau should do, and what Beau ended up doing were generally two very different things.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I don’t—’ He frowned. ‘Did someone send you on the wrong path?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No.’ It was the truth, technically. She had been on the wrong path for a time, but no-one had set her on it. She had jumped on it of her own volition. Her father’s path, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. <em>He</em> had trusted the wrong person, and somehow, he had paid the price. Even if he hadn’t quite realized it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The right path, the path they were going to take, was the path towards Molaesmyr. Though it barely seemed to take two hours from the time they set out, it seemed like ten. The city sort of snuck up on her. She had spent the half hour before they got there promising herself that it would just be around the next corner, and when she finally stepped across the threshold, a world of ancient Elven ruins opened up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was, in a word, fucking gorgeous. Okay, that was two words, and, Beau was pretty sure that most people wouldn’t go around calling the ruins of a city “gorgeous,” but to her they were. The trees were ten times the height of anything in the Savalirwood proper, and thick, twisting vines had wended their way through, blocking out any light. There was a heavy fog that seemed to hover just a few feet off the ground, obscuring tree roots and fallen bits of masonry. Crumbling stone towers seemed to have been built in some sort of symbiosis with the trees, balconies carved from enormous branches. In the center of the city, one tower rose higher than all of the others, higher even than the tallest trees. This, Beau knew, was Caes Mosor.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>History and magic seemed to emanate from every single facet of the city. Something within its heart was the source of the corruption though the rest of the Savalirwood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that wasn’t what Beau had come here to look for. She pulled out the hand-drawn map that she had copied from the inside of the box, and looked from the ruins before her, to the map, and back to the ruins again. Given that the buildings were crumbling, and given that the fog was covering up a lot of it, getting a bead on exactly where they were was difficult, even though she had matched up what she could with the aerial footage.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The saving grace was it looked like the tower was in the middle of the map, and, more to the point, whatever they were looking for was in the tower. There was something else, though, in a different building, that she wanted to check out; mostly because it had come with the warning, “chosen of Lolth,” which didn’t seem like good news. Beau had heard of Lolth. The Spider Queen, goddess of deceit, and, shadows, and, funnily enough, spiders.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘This is pretty fucking cool,’ Beau said, in a breathless sort of voice. She could tell that it would take weeks, hell, months to explore the whole city, even if the way it was built meant that she could only see the smallest portion of it from where she stood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Worth five hundred gold?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly’s words brought Beau back down to Exandria.  She turned back to look at her companions. ‘Well, it was a condition that someone hold me while I sleep at night, so I can’t say I’ve really gotten my money’s worth.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Molly will cuddle with you tonight,’ Yasha said, before Molly could make a rude comment. Beau grimaced.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Ew,’ she said. ‘Pass.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I’ll have you know that there are thousands of people out there – men and women – who would give anything to cuddle with me. Five hundred gold would be a bargain.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau ignored him. She made her way into the city slowly. Now that she was here, she definitely didn’t want to go straight to the tower. There was so much history here, so much that could be seen, could be discovered, could be learned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As they moved closer and closer to the heart of the city, the fog grew denser, the ground spongier, and the air thicker. Beau ducked under a thicket of ivy to walk through a stone doorway, and almost immediately began to choke on the noxious air within. She tried to hold her breath, but the particles that were floating around the place had already gotten into her lungs. Her head swam, and her eyes watered. A rough hand grabbed at her shoulder and pulled her back. She stumbled, and fell to the ground.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She continued to cough as she was pulled away, but every second it got a little easier to breathe, until finally – finally – she could feel fresh air coming into her lungs. Fresh relatively speaking, at least. Beau was pretty sure that they were a long, long way from proper fresh air.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘They don’t make archaeologists wear face masks?’ Molly asked, the words a little muffled. He had his arm across his own mouth, the sleeve doing its best to filter the air.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was the funny thing. They did – or at least they did when they were cracking open places that had thousands of years to grow deadly fungi. Beau was just really shit at following instructions. She had completely forgotten to bring one. She had her sash, but that was busy fulfilling a different purpose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly rolled his eyes. He dug through his own bag and pulled out a tasseled, checked scarf, the sort that you wore in the desert to protect your head and neck from the sun. A shemagh, she was pretty sure they were called. Some of the halfling workers in Kamordah wore something similar in the summer, when the temperature got brutally hot.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Thanks,’ Beau muttered, and wrapped it around her mouth and nose. It was only pointless curiosity that had her going in there, anyway. Since they were only here for one reason, there was little point in going back into the building with the poisonous air.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even still, as they made their way to the center of the city, they drifted apart a little. Beau was about fifty feet in front of, and to the side of Yasha, and Molly was another fifty feet away in a different direction. It was an unspoken decision between them; if there was someone out there; thieves, or mercenaries, or more monsters, then it would be harder to be ambushed if they were spread out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was slow progress. The fog made visibility almost impossible, and it felt like every five minutes Beau had to stop and make sure the tower was still where she thought it was. They were making enough noise to scare off a lot of small creatures, but Yasha had still made effective use of her rifle, and shot a couple of the ones that had gotten too close.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Nice shot,’ Beau said, as a weird-looking winged fucker sort of exploded into a red mist about ten feet in front of her. Yasha had come a little closer, and was now just twenty or so feet away. ‘You’re pretty good with that.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was another crack, and another winged creature fell from the sky, landing at Beau’s feet. Yasha lowered the rifle. ‘Thank-you,’ she said, in a flat sort of voice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Have you like…ever killed a person with it?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ensuing awkward silence from the question was only broken by Molly’s voice from behind them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hey,’ he called out. ‘Come take a look at this.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What?’ Beau glared at him. She’d been trying to have a nice conversation with Yasha. Definitely not trying to flirt or anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I just found a body.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Okay, that she’d come take a look at.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly led them a little way back, to what had once been a small building that encircled a largish tree. It had been tall, once, but judging by the flagstones that had fallen around it. One particularly flagstone seemed to be responsible for the body lying at the foot of the tower. Or, more accurately, the skeleton.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was half-covered in muck and forest litter, and judging by the claw marks on the skull, it looked like it had been dug up by a scavenging animal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Gently, Beau cleared away some of the muck with her trowel and her brush. It took several minutes to reveal the head, and another forty minutes or so to clear away enough dirt to see the rest of the body. It was surprisingly intact above the waist, but the legs had been damaged by roots from the cursed trees of the Savalirwood.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It looks in very good condition,’ Yasha said. ‘It cannot be that old.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Not necessarily.’ Beau knelt down to get a closer look at the body. ‘The climate this far north is pretty cold. Bodies stay preserved for longer in this sort of weather. Plus the magic here probably has some sort of effect on decay. Could be hundreds of years old. Maybe even thousands.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Elvish,’ Beau said, letting her gloved finger barely brush the side of the skull. There was a large cracked hole there, where the rock must have hit him. Or where Molly had tripped over the body. She moved the skull slightly to look at the teeth, many of which had disintegrated.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly looked skeptical. ‘How can you tell?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Skull is narrower, and generally a little longer. Jaw’s a little more pointed. Slightly more slender than a human or a tiefling, and definitely shorter. I’d have to do a bone density analysis to be sure, but I’m pretty sure I’m right.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sure it’s not just a kid?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shook her head. ‘He has adult teeth, and the bones are fused in parts, which indicate that he wasn’t an adolescent.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘He?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau’s lips curled into a slight grin. ‘Pelvis shape.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly had a look on his face. ‘You’re not just some rich kid looking for a bit of fun, are you?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shrugged. ‘I can be two things. People are complex like that.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well we can’t all be experts in archaeology.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau winked. ‘Anthropology.’ Molly threw his hands up in the air, and wandered off to look at something else. Just as well. He was kind of distracting. Admittedly, she wasn’t anything close to an expert in anthropology, but she’d taken a few basic courses as part of her degree. It certainly helped, when coming across bodies. For one thing, it put the rest of the site into context.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Do you know how long he has been here?’ Yasha asked.  Beau started, slightly. She hadn’t realized that Yasha had been listening in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hard to tell, without all the right equipment. Would have to do a soil analysis to see how acidic it is, and figure out the chemical composition of the bones. Instead, the best way to do it would be to use the city itself.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha frowned. ‘What do you mean?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, Molaesmyr fell, what…eight hundred years ago?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sure,’ Yasha said. Beau was fairly certain Yasha wasn’t sure at all. Not surprising. Even among historians, the actual date of Molaesmyr’s fall was disputed. For some reason, the people that had fled the place had been a little vague on what had actually happened.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So, assuming that this piece of ruin didn’t fall sometime since then, then this guy’s been here for at least eight hundred years. That’s what we’d call the <em>terminus ante quem</em>, or the latest date that the body could have been left here. Like, if I got crushed by a boulder right now, and the only thing that survived was my watch, which told you the date, then you’d be able to say that I couldn’t have died any later than today.’ Not that she was planning on dying today.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha frowned. ‘Is that Zemnian?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shook her head. ‘It’s, ah…Julioun. Dead language of the Julous Dominion. Most of ‘em spoke Common anyway.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘He could have been here on an expedition,’ Yasha said, kneeling to examine the body. She was so godsdamned close. ‘Crushed when he disturbed the wrong thing, So it could have been later than the fall.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Exactly!’ Beau was excited. It wasn’t often she got to share this sort of nerdy shit with people. They were either uninterested, or thought that she was yanking their chain. ‘So basically, I’d have to either take the body somewhere else, or poke around a bit more to see if we can find some clues, and since I don’t think I’d get away with taking a body back on my carry-on…’ She let Yasha infer the rest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So where would you take the body?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hmm?’ Beau was looking around, not quite paying attention to anything but the ruins. A puzzle that was missing half of its pieces.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You said you would have to take the body somewhere else. Where would you take it?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh.’ Beau had to wrack her brains for a second. ‘Cobalt Soul has a place in Rexxentrum. They call it the Body Farm. Any time we find a body in the field, it goes there for testing and shit.’ It wasn’t the whole truth. The whole truth was that, technically, she was not here on Cobalt Soul business at all, but then, she was pretty sure she hadn’t made a point of saying that she was. Yasha seemed satisfied with that response. In any case, she didn’t ask questions.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau wouldn’t have minded if she did. Instead, she poked around for a few more minutes, and found nothing that stood out. Admittedly, she’d never really been good at this part. In the end, though, it didn’t really matter. She marked the location as best she could tell on her map, just so she could tell the Cobalt Soul archaeological teams about it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They kept moving.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was another hour or so before they made it to what Beau was fairly sure was the tower they were looking for. Caes Mosor. She’d forgotten to look up what it meant, and it hadn’t been in any of the Cobalt Soul notes about the place. Could have meant “cursed tower, stay the fuck away unless you want your insides turned to acid.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that was a little unwieldy for Elvish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They did like to speak in metaphor though (hence “guilt wood”), so it was probably something that was attempting to be profound, and just ended up sounding stupid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Beauregard,’ Yasha said, in a low whisper that just carried. Beau came to a stop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I think we should be very, very careful going into this tower. If there’s anything…dangerous, then this is where it will be.’ Beau raised an eyebrow, in doing so putting pull on the stitches that Yasha had put in just the previous night. ‘More dangerous than strange creatures in the night. She gestured towards her gun, and Beau suddenly got the point. People with weapons, was what she meant. Hesitating, Beau unholstered Yasha’s pistol, and held it at the ready.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She walked into the tower.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was strangely quite inside, and, though the rest of the city was nearly void of natural light, somehow, there was a skylight that had formed, through time and decay. Beau had to fish out her sunglasses. Like the box in her backpack, the walls had writing engraved on them. She’d have to translate most of it later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wondered what this building must have been. From the size of it, and its positioning within the city, it must have been something important. Perhaps the residence of a leader, or a monarch. The history books were a little hazy on that front, hence why so many archaeologists were so keen to get into the place. Apparently, they hadn’t made it to the tower, yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If she’d had time, it would have been nice to go through the whole thing, inch by inch, cataloguing, and taking photos, and collecting samples. As it was, was carrying her phone ahead of her, taking video as she went. Once that inheritance came through, she’d really have to get a GoPro or something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The fall of footsteps was near silent. Molly and Yasha had an unnerving amount of experience in sneaking around, and Beau had learned from a young age to be light on her feet. She kept close to the walls, mostly so that she could film all the intricate writing in as much detail as possible.</p>
<p>It took an hour or so of wandering through, avoiding more of the cursed creatures, and looking through discarded bits of history (some of which made their way into Beau’s backpack) before she found a likely looking door.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was locked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau snorted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Fucking figures</em>. But, unlike most of the archaeologists at the Cobalt Soul, Beauregard Lionett had a checkered criminal past. Ancient Elven locks were a little different to modern Exandrian locks, but the principle was the same; move the pins into place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She pulled out her lockpicks, and got to work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You are just a walking bundle of curiosities, aren’t you?’ Molly said, jovially. Beau gave him a look.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘And somehow, I don’t know a godsdamned thing about you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, the good news is, we’ve got that in common.’ Beau was about to ask what the fuck that meant, but was distracted by the click of the lock. It was a little easier than she’d thought it would be. In fact, the whole thing was a little easier than she’d thought. There had to be some kind of catch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a single pedestal in the room, and on top of the pedestal was a book.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was an old book.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A very, very old book. Possibly older even than the city itself. Whoever owned this book had lived a very, very long time ago.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The words etched into the walls were Elvish. Beau swore. Elvish was definitely not her strong suit. She should have expected as much, given that had come to an ancient Elvish city, and that all the other words in all the other rooms in the building had been in Elvish. Sighing, she pulled out her notebook. The book seemed like the sort of thing that she didn’t want to touch until she’d read what was on the walls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Interestingly, though, one thing did catch her eye. The writing on the book wasn’t in Elvish. The letters were of the Common alphabet, but it looked a bit like Zemnian. Why the fuck would an Elvish mage be writing in Zemnian?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unless…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Shit,’ Beau muttered. She grabbed her bag, and rifled through it, looking for the puzzle box. It was tucked down the side, wrapped in her Cobalt Soul sash.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly stared at her. ‘You’ve got a priceless ancient artifact, and you keep it in your backpack?’ His tone was one of disbelief.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Where else am I supposed to keep it?’ Beau could not keep the acid out of her voice. She opened the box, and re-read the engraving on the inside. <em>Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.</em> She was afraid of this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Is there a problem?’ Yasha’s calmness was a welcome contrast to Molly’s accusatory tone. Even when he was asking her about breakfast, it felt like he was trying to antagonize her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I mistranslated the text,’ she muttered, casting her eyes back away from them. ‘Halas wasn’t an elven mage. He <em>killed</em> an Elven mage, which kickstarted the Elves into doing something about him. <em>Fuck</em>!’ Beau was half a second away from throwing the box at the wall. Instead, she clenched her fists and held them to her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a stupid mistake. The kind of mistake that Dairon had always chastised her for making. The kind of mistake she should have known better than to make. The kind of mistake that had her backspiraling into the depression that had plagued her for the weeks since her parents’ deaths.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Does it matter?’ For what felt like the first time since she had met Molly, his voice was…gentle. He put a hand to her back. Of everything he could have done, that was somehow the most helpful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It doesn’t,’ Beau admitted, even though it kind of pained her to do so. ‘I just…I like certainty. I like…’ She chuckled slightly. ‘I like being right.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, that’s definitely something we can agree on,’ he said, but he was talking to her like he would talk to a friend, like a gentle roasting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shook herself, and took a few moments to put herself back together. She was kind of upset that Yasha had seen that, even though she didn’t think that Yasha would be the kind of person to judge her for falling apart. It was just as well, because she’d kind of done a lot of that over the past few weeks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was right. It didn’t really matter. Knowing that Halas was human didn’t change that if the Elves were protecting one of his books, if the Elves had locked him away, then he must have been pretty dangerous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The text on the wall was in the same archaic dialect as what had been on the box. This time, Beau translated very slowly, keeping an eye out for the grammar points she knew she always had trouble with in Elvish. It was the verbs, mostly. Elvish root languages tended to have a gazillion different ways of conjugating. Different words from when you did something before, or after, or between, or during. That was the problem when you lived hundreds of years. You had to be very specific about the when, and the why, and the how. She took a few photos for good measure, of the walls, and of the pedestal.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly and Yasha were remarkably patient. Then, Beau remembered that she had literally paid them to be patient. She had barely known them for two days, and yet in spite of Molly occasionally being a dick, she had grown to enjoy their company. Or, maybe it was something to do with the fact that she was so starved for friendship, for attention, that she was literally latching on to the first people that she’d really met.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It didn’t take long for Beau to realize that the text on the wall was very similar to the text she’d found in the box. Talking about how Halas had been in search of immortality and didn’t care who got in his way.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The book was Halas’s spellbook. Ancient, and filled with more magic than any of them could ever lay their hands on. Pretty pointless, seeing as how she didn’t know how to use magic, and didn’t know anyone that did. A thousand years ago, when people could teleport halfway across the world, and turn stone to silver, and create balls of fire in their hands, it would have been useful, but now it was just a book.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But she had come all this way, and it would be silly to leave the thing behind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stepped forward, and picked up the book.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No sooner than she had taken the book from the pedestal, the ground started to shake. Small bits of rock and stone and dust started to pour from the ceiling. Outside the room, there was a loud crash as though something much larger had fallen.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Okay, we need to go,’ Yasha said. She did not even wait for Beau to say anything, but grabbed her by the arm, and started pulling her towards the doorway. Beau barely had time to shove the book into her backpack, along with the box, and her notebook. Her phone, she put in her pocket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They ran.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The building continued to rumble and shake, and Beau felt a strange regret. How much history was about to be lost to the world because of her unassuageable curiosity. Ah well. At least she had photos.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>What had taken an hour coming in seemed to take mere seconds going out, though it was probably three or four minutes. Beau’s heart was pounding like a sledgehammer against her chest, and through the scarf around her mouth, it was hard to breathe.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She wasn’t going to make it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least, they weren’t all going to make it, and she wasn’t going to let Molly and Yasha die when the only reason they were there was because of her. She slowed to let them in front, and was unprepared for Yasha grabbing her bodily by the scruff of the neck and diving through the open door, just as the tower collapsed behind them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau groaned into the dirt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was half sure that she’d broken something when Yasha had pushed her forward, crashing into the ground, but when she stood, everything seemed to be in working order.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Beau, gimme a hand!’ Molly’s voice drew Beau from her reverie. She turned and saw Molly struggling to move a chunk of rock. A chunk of rock that Yasha was pinned under.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Shit</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau ran to the other side, and squatted down. For some reason, Dairon’s words were echoing in her ears. <em>Lift with your legs</em>, they said, so Beau did. It took Beau and Molly’s combined strength (and, Beau was fairly certain that Yasha herself was pushing up a great deal) to shift the rock. Once they did, they were both panting and huffing. Yasha seemed unperturbed, even by the large amount of blood that was trickling from a wound across her stomach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It will be fine,’ she said, in that lackadaisical voice of hers.</p>
<p>‘Shut up and don’t move,’ Molly said. He already had his first aid kit out. Beau kept an eye out to make sure that the rest of the city wasn’t about to crumble inward, but it seemed that the trap – was it a trap? – was confined only to the main tower. To trap whoever took the book.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well, it had almost worked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, what do we have here?’ Beau straightened. She should have realized that a fucking collapsing tower would have drawn the attention of any mercenary within a five mile radius. These two didn’t look particularly nice. They were both human, with ruddy faces, and unkempt hair. They were both carrying guns, and did not look overly concerned at the idea of shooting people.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You should walk away.’ Even though she was lying against a rock with her shirt up around her neck (Beau was absolutely not staring) she somehow managed to sound very intimidating. Unfortunately, that message didn’t quite come across to the two mercenaries that had them at gunpoint. Still, it did draw their attention, and they both turned their guns in Yasha and Molly’s direction.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Good thing they weren’t too smart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau unclipped her holster as silently as she could. She leveled her gun, and took a deep breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Crack.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They both dropped. One looked as though he might have been still alive, but Beau’s hands were shaking too much to do anything about it. Molly, on the other hand, calmly drew his own weapon, and finished the guy off. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, in a voice that seemed oddly cold. ‘First one’s the hardest.’</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>There was one last thing that Beau wanted to do before they left.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She found the second building marked on the map. The funny thing was, it had almost been crushed by the tower collapsing, which made getting into it much, much easier.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Like the book, the skull sat on a pedestal. The words underneath it, though worn, were still reasonably legible.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What does it say?’ Yasha asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau read the inscription. ‘“Here lies the skull of Jourrael, the Inevitable End, the Caedogeist. Chosen assassin of Lolth, exalted by Asmodeus.”’ Beau paused. ‘Holy shit,’ she said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Lolth and Asmodeus, they are Betrayer Gods, yes?’ Yasha was frowning.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Uh, yeah.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh. That does not sound good.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No,’ Beau agreed. ‘It doesn’t.’ She thought back to the two mercenaries that they had just killed. If people kept coming to Molaesmyr, then this skull would fall into the wrong hands. She shuddered to think what something like that would be worth to someone that wanted to…resurrect this Inevitable End.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau took out her phone, and swore. There was a great big crack right down the middle, and it wouldn’t turn on. Fuck. There was no way of knowing whether her photos had survived, no way of contacting Dairon and covertly telling the elf that there was a skull in the middle of Molaesmyr that the Cobalt Soul really needed to check out. With a sigh, Beau went to pick it up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You know what?’ she said, turning to Molly and Yasha. ‘Maybe you guys should stand back a bit.’</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>It was a long walk back to Shadycreek Run.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They spent two more nights in the Savalirwood, and Beau’s promise of receiving cuddles went sadly unfulfilled. Not that she paid it any mind. Her brain was still processing everything that had happened in Molaesmyr, part exhilarated by what they had done, and part disappointed that she couldn’t have spent more time there. That, she was sure, would have been a much more expensive fee.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>On the first night, Yasha came to sit next to Beau as she scribbled in her journal. It was one thing that the Cobalt Soul had taught her well. Notetaking. ‘Are you alright?’ Yasha said. Beau, so consumed by her task, jumped. Yasha put a hand out to steady her. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Nah.’ Beau brushed off the apology. ‘I was just in the zone, y’know. What did you ask? I uh, completely missed the question.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I asked if you were alright.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau frowned. ‘Why?’ Then, she remembered that she had killed someone. Admittedly, someone that would have very easily killed her and Yasha an Molly, and had absolutely no remorse. ‘Oh yeah. That.’ She paused. ‘I mean…it was hard, but…is it bad that I don’t feel as upset about it as I think I should?’  </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Weirdly, Yasha was neither angry, nor supportive. If anything, her next words were ominous. ‘That will come,’ she said.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was mid-afternoon when they made it back to Shadycreek Run. The first thing Beau did was go find an electronics store to fix her phone. She paid two hundred gold for them to replace her screen, something that would have cost fifty anywhere else. Then, returned to the newly booked room at the <em>Landlocked Lady</em>, and spent the next few hours downloading the photos and videos to her hard drive. It was an imperfect solution, but it was the solution that she had.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once they were safely backed up, she started looking at them. Specifically, in the first instance, the ones from the room where they’d found the book. There was a strange feeling she had in the back of her head, a feeling that she was missing something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took her a while to find it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The text spoke of how Halas had been imprisoned inside a gem, and how his artifacts had been scattered around various cities in the world for safekeeping. Scattered artifacts meant that there were more of them out there. More ancient cities to visit, more bits of history to find, more ways to distract herself from the things that she didn’t want to think about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha had been right, after all. That first night on the trail, she’d had the nightmares of pulling the trigger. Of killing Yasha and Molly, of killing her parents, and the little brother that she’d never met. Of killing Dairon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just another thing to worry about.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau went back downstairs, and found Molly and Yasha at the bar, having a well-deserved drink. She bought them another round, and, since they’d helped her out pretty well, decided to buy them dinner, too.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Would you look at that, Yash,’ Molly said, in a very pleased sounding voice, when he saw the enormous plate of burger and chips set in front of him. ‘I believe we call that one karma.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I think we’re all very much waiting for the day where you get what you deserve,’ Beau said, grinning. She was utterly certain she saw Yasha give a sly smile, and Beau decided to follow up her grin with a wink. Okay. Yeah, Yasha was <em>definitely</em> blushing. Beau got out her journal, and flipped to the last page with writing on it. ‘So. I looked at some of those photos. Found some clues about more artefacts belonging to our esteemed mage friend. Gonna have to do some more research, but I feel like there’s definitely some promising options out there.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘How much,’ Molly said. Beau, halfway through a scribbled mess of notes, did not process the words straight away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Huh?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You paid five hundred for this little trip, how much for the next?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau felt like she’d been slapped by a wet fish. She wasn’t sure why it was a wet fish, and, moreover, she wasn’t sure why she was surprised. After all, they had only done what she had hired them to do. It was foolish – selfish, even – to think that they would want to come on the second part of the journey without recompense.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, you know,’ she said, after she found her tongue again. ‘It could be anywhere, so I wouldn’t want to drag you away from Shadycreek Run. Probably better off finding some local mercs.’ She stood, knocking over the chair that she had been sitting on. Molly’s words had put a very definite pin in whatever it was they had been working on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha opened her mouth as if she was going to say something, but then her nerve seemed to leave her. ‘I should give you my contact details,’ she said. ‘Just in case there is something you need to…get in touch with us about.’ She took Beau’s pen, still on the table, and grabbed a napkin from a pile in the center of the table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sure,’ Beau said gruffly. She took the hastily scrawled phone number, and shoved it in her pocket. She wasn’t sure if she’d be using it. There was an awkward sort of silence, and Beau thought that they might have been waiting for her to give her own.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She stood. ‘Thanks for your help,’ she said, and left.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If they wanted to find her, then they would have to do it on their own.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Beau gets a cute girl's number, but not in the way that she'd hoped.</p>
<p>Next up, start of a new arc. Also next up, this will probably become my longest CR fic yet, and it's barely fucking started.</p>
<p>Find me on tumblr at thefriendlymurderer.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Paths and Portents</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>IX – Paths and Portents</p><p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p><p>Rosohna</p><p>The first thing that Yasha did when she got back from the Dunrock Mountains was have a very long bath. There was a nice bathhouse in the Gallimaufry District, where she had soothed her aching bones and muscles. Regardless of why she had done it, she was not keen to complete another long trek through the mountains anytime soon. Hopefully, Beau wouldn’t be pulling any death-defying stunts any time soon. Not that Yasha had any hope in that regard; Beau had been pulling death-defying stunts since the day that they had met.</p><p> </p><p>It was a miracle she wasn’t dead.</p><p> </p><p>The moment she had come back into cell range, Yasha had received a message. From the timestamp, it looked like it had been actually sent several days ago, and it was…it was something.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Hey Yash, not sure if you’re screening my calls or not, but I just wanted to say thanks. Got back home safely, will be avoiding ancient Xhorhasian mountain ruins for at least the next couple of days. Would be really good to talk; there are some things that I really want to say.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Beau must have tried to call. The phone didn’t show any missed calls, but that wasn’t unusual, when she was out of range. Yasha read and reread the message several times, trying to look for some hidden meaning. There was none. Beau was nothing if not blunt, when she wanted to be, but there was a depth to her that few people took the chance to really see. Or, rather, that few people were ever allowed to see.</p><p> </p><p>Refreshed, and slightly less achy, Yasha returned home. She tried to push Beau out of her head; that was a situation that she was in no way ready to deal with, not now that the fresh memory of guilt was bubbling over into her mind.</p><p> </p><p>No sooner than she had locked the door behind her, the phone rang.</p><p> </p><p>It was Obann. He always had a strange habit of calling right as she got home. Like he had a sixth sense about where she was at any given time.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Now Yasha, is that the way we greet friends</em>?’ His words were gently chastising, though she could sense the underlying…creepiness to them. He had always been this way, and yet he provided consistent and well-paying work, to the point where Yasha though it was worth the sacrifice of putting up with him.</p><p> </p><p>‘How are you?’ Yasha asked, in a deadpan voice, not particularly caring about the answer.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Oh, I’m fine. Great things are on the horizon, you know?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘Right.’ Yasha didn’t particularly have time for social niceties. Not that she had anything else planned. She just didn’t want to talk to him. ‘Is there a job that you have for me?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Not yet,</em>’ Obann admitted. ‘<em>But as I said, great things are on the horizon. I have some very important jobs coming up that I think you’d be </em>perfect <em>for. Can I count on you to keep yourself free?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>His voice was buttery smooth, and though Yasha sometimes had misgivings about whether or not she could trust him, somehow, he always managed to sway her.</p><p> </p><p>‘Sure,’ she said, gruffly. Obann didn’t even say thank-you.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>When the time comes</em>,’ he said. ‘<em>I’ll call you</em>.’</p><p>…</p><p>The Valley Archive of the Cobalt Soul was one of the biggest buildings in Zadash, second only to the Halls of Erudition. It was light, and airy, and very welcoming for an organization that assigned a frowny librarian to literally anyone that wanted to come and look at books.</p><p> </p><p>Beau made a point of avoiding the Archive as much as possible. She was not quite on the level of <em>persona non grata</em>, but even still, there were more than a few people that gave her Looks as she stood waiting in the entrance hall. But, when they told her to come in, she usually came in.</p><p> </p><p>It was Zeenoth that had called her, which was unusual. Generally, if there was anything involving the Soul that Beau was needed for, it was Dairon that called her. Zeenoth doing it was…well, it was a little suspicious.</p><p> </p><p>That should have been Beau’s first indication that she was better off not going. That she should have just called Dairon to get the lay of the land, and stayed at home.</p><p> </p><p>But, Beau had never particularly been one for the smart course of action.</p><p> </p><p>‘High Curator Turray has some things he would like to discuss with you,’ Zeenoth told her, after he had greeted Beau with a stiff handshake.</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh shit</em>.</p><p> </p><p>To say that Beau didn’t get on with High Curator Turray was something of an understatement. She had butted heads with him since she’d first been introduced to the man, almost five years ago. He was a doddering old man in his late seventies, and used his age as a smokescreen for what was a pretty sharp mind and body. For all that, though, he was also a blatant pawn of the Empire, something which Beau considered to be something of a problem given that the Soul were supposed to root out corruption in the Empire. She had made no light of her disdain towards Empire pawns.</p><p> </p><p>So far, Dairon had done a pretty damn good job at being something of a buffer between Beau and the rest of the Soul. She technically didn’t actually work for them, and was not on their payroll, but still undertook consultation work and had access to many of the resources. It was a pretty good balance that Beau had managed to maintain by graciously donating some of her findings to the organization. They didn’t question it, because it turned out that being rich as fuck opened more doors than being an information gathering organization.</p><p> </p><p>If Turray had called her in, though, that meant that they wanted something, and if Zeenoth had been the one to do it, it meant that they had already spoken to Dairon and been rebuffed. So, all in all, not good news.</p><p> </p><p>‘What happened to your leg?’ Zeenoth asked, as he led Beau up the tower to the High Curator’s office. Of <em>course</em> the High Curator had to live on the top fucking floor of the tower. Beau would have thought that a dude so old and so distinguished would have demanded a room on the bottom floor. It had now been almost five weeks since Beau had been shot, but she still wasn’t fully healed.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fell off my bicycle,’ Beau told him. It wasn’t a particularly believable lie. She didn’t even <em>have </em>a bicycle, but Zeenoth didn’t know that. If she told him that she’d been in the Dunrock Mountains, and had found (and lost) a Xhorhasian artifact, then they would probably cut their losses and kick her out for good.</p><p> </p><p>Given that their resources were second to none, and had books that Beau knew for a fact didn’t exist anywhere else in Wildemount, that was a risk that she could not take. So, she toed their line just enough that they’d let her in the front door.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was slightly relieved to see that Dairon was waiting on the bench outside Turray’s office. So Dairon wasn’t entirely out of the loop. Their arms were folded, and there was a frown lining the high-cheekboned Elven face.</p><p> </p><p>Dairon did not look impressed, and they did not make any attempt at hiding it. Beau got the impression that there had been a rather heated discussion with the High Curator before she had arrived.</p><p> </p><p>Beau sat down next to her, and could not help but lower her head to whisper, ‘You know what this is about?’</p><p> </p><p>‘You’ll see,’ Dairon said, shortly. That wasn’t good. Dairon had rarely gone to the point of refusing to tell Beau what was going on.</p><p> </p><p>‘Should I be worried?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes.’</p><p> </p><p>Oh. Well, shit.</p><p> </p><p>Dairon seemed to consider her words for a moment. ‘I would…not speak to the High Curator with the same glibness you would talk to me. Take a moment to collect yourself before you speak.’</p><p> </p><p>Okay, that message was clear enough. Basically, if Beau was reading it right, “Don’t tell the High Curator a single fucking thing that you told me.” Not that Beau needed to hear that particular message. Dairon had only earned her trust after several years of working together.</p><p> </p><p>‘Enter,’ came a booming voice that was nonetheless tinged with age. Beau rolled her eyes, and stood, wincing at the slight pull on her scar.</p><p> </p><p>She was surprised to see that Turray was not alone in his office. He was sitting at his desk, glasses that he didn’t need perched on top of his nose.</p><p> </p><p>There was a woman standing by the fireplace.</p><p> </p><p>She was a little older than Beau – maybe about ten years – but her face and arms were heavily scarred. Her ash-blonde hair was cut in the haircut that Beau had come to associate with complaining to a manager. Her tunic was a reddish-gold color, and though she did not seem to be carrying a weapon of any kind, Beau got the strangest impression that this unfamiliar woman would kick her ass.</p><p> </p><p>‘Same scar,’ Beau said, in lieu of anything else. She gestured to her own face, where a faint scar ran from eyebrow to chin. The woman, though, had one that Beau did not; a large burn on her neck. ‘What happened there?’ Beau asked, gesturing towards the burn scar. From his desk, Turray made a sound of disbelief. Well, if he didn’t want her to be herself, he shouldn’t have called her in.</p><p> </p><p>To her surprise, the woman flinched slightly. It was almost imperceptible, had Beau not being paying very close attention. ‘I put my trust in the wrong person,’ she said, her eyes casting a thousand-yard stare into the fireplace. Then, she seemed to remember what she was here for. ‘My name is Astrid,’ she told Beau. ‘I am from the Soltryce Academy. You may have heard of us.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau stared at her. That was fucking weird. Not least of all because the Cobalt Soul pretty famously hated anything and everything to do with the Cerberus Assembly, of which the Soltryce Academy was pretty inextricably linked. At least, they were supposed to. High Curator Turray was far more of a boot licker than the Curator of the Rexxentrum Archive. Even now, he was listening to their conversation with steepled fingers, not daring to interrupt. Turray liked to stay in the Empire’s good graces, which meant occasionally sucking up to the Cerberus Assembly.</p><p> </p><p>The same Cerberus Assembly that studied the magics that so few people still had access to. The same Cerberus Assembly who, if the rumors were accurate, were attempting to figure out why something that had once been so ubiquitous, something that had run through bloodlines and was handed out by immortal beings and was ripped from the pages of spellbooks had almost entirely vanished. Why the mages of the Age of Arcanum could grow so powerful that they harried the Gods, but people like Caleb could just barely light a cigarette with the click of his fingers.</p><p> </p><p>Still a pretty cool trick, admittedly.</p><p> </p><p>Beau wondered what she could do with magic like that. So many things she could change; bring back Molly, bring back her parents, and her brother. Never have to call Yasha for help again…</p><p> </p><p>Astrid cleared her throat, and Beau realized that she was the one with a blank sort of gaze now, caught as she was in the machinations of the past.</p><p> </p><p>‘Have you ever been to Xhorhas?’ Astrid asked, but that wasn’t really the question. The question, Beau knew, was “have you ever been into the Dunrock Mountains.”</p><p> </p><p>‘On Cobalt Soul business, once or twice.’ <em>Plus a few other times on other business</em>. ‘Not recently, though.’ <em>I was there three weeks ago, bleeding to death in a cave.</em></p><p> </p><p>‘Hmm,’ Astrid said. Definitely skeptical, but strangely, not pushing the issue. Beau had the strangest suspicion that she already knew the answer.</p><p> </p><p>‘What about you? I hear there’s some great magical history there. Ground zero of the Calamity and all.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I, ah…have not had the pleasure.’ Lying. Definitely lying. Beau was starting to get the impression that not only had they both been to Xhorhas, they had been there at around the same time, and in the same place, and that Astrid had maybe…just maybe…been carrying a rifle. ‘I am quite interested in magical history, though, if that is your, ah…bailiwick. Have you heard of a magic called Dunamancy?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Nope,’ Beau said, and in her own lying mind, she knew that she’d answered way too quickly. ‘What is that, the study of sand dunes?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Ah, <em>nein</em>, it is a rather experimental field of magic relating to the manipulation of time, and of gravity. I was hoping that perhaps some members of the Cobalt Soul might have some information that we do not possess at the Soltryce Academy. I was told you were one of the Soul’s most prolific historians.’</p><p> </p><p>Probably a lie.</p><p> </p><p>No. Definitely a lie. The Cobalt Soul had a lot of books, but they were mostly books about history. Books about obscure arcane knowledge were definitely more likely to be found at the Soltryce Academy. Not to mention that the only thing that Beau was “most prolific” at was definitely not something that she should be repeating in mixed company. Though it would have been pretty fucking funny to see the High Curator blush. ‘Ah, I’m afraid I can’t help you, unless you want to hear about the best places to find underground fighting in Zadash. I’m more of a grunt.’</p><p> </p><p>And, as if just waiting for the perfect moment to hit it home. ‘How is your leg? Archivist Zeenoth said you were limping.’ She stared at Beau directly, as though daring her to lie again. Beau stared right the fuck back.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s on the mend,’ she said, evenly. ‘I guess now I know better than to go cycling in peak hour traffic. Y’know, drivers in this city just don’t respect people on bikes.’ There was a long pause. ‘Now I know you didn’t make a trip to the Cobalt Soul in Zadash just to ask me about all the vacations that I’ve been on, and I know you don’t think I’m an expert in sand magic. Did you have a specific question beyond what you’ve already asked?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I do,’ Astrid said. She stepped forward. ‘Does the name Bren Aldric Ermendrud mean anything to you?’ The way she said it, Beau supposed it was supposed to be something of a dagger. Something that would pierce through whatever veil that Beau had been holding up to keep her lies undiscovered. The problem was, she had no fucking idea who Bren Aldric Ermendrud was.</p><p> </p><p>‘Not a godsdamned thing.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Hmmm.’ Astrid was unperturbed. She withdrew a photograph from her pocket. From the composition, it looked almost like a school photo. Not that the Cobalt Soul had ever done anything as normal as school photographs. Nothing that would leave a paper trail. There was a boy in the photograph; his short, red hair was cropped somewhat close to the head, and he was clean-shaven. He didn’t look much older than seventeen or eighteen. That didn’t change the truth of the matter that Beau saw the moment she looked at the photograph.</p><p> </p><p>It was Caleb.</p><p> </p><p>His hair was much shorter, and he didn’t have a beard, and the cheeks were a little plumper, but most importantly – most noticeably – he didn’t have an ever-present look of abject sadness in his eyes. This was Caleb before…before whatever had happened happened.</p><p> </p><p>Who the fuck was this woman, that she asked questions about Xhorhas, and about Dunamancy (a magic only really studied by the Xhorhasians), and was now asking after Caleb? Were they being followed? Did Beau have to get Nott to add another layer to their security system? All very good questions that Beau did not have an answer to.</p><p> </p><p>She frowned. ‘No,’ she said, carefully. She had always been a pretty decent liar, but this was the sort of person that seemed like they would be very good at separating truth from fiction, and had already done so in their conversation. ‘I’ve never seen this person before in my life.’</p><p>…</p><p>It was quiet in the house.</p><p> </p><p>Quiet, and no missions on the horizon meant that Nott could work on some…extracurricular projects. For a while now, extracurricular projects had been one thing, and one thing only; trying to track down Luc and Yeza.</p><p> </p><p>It had been mere months since she’d discovered that they were still alive, after years of thinking that they were dead, and every spare second that she’d had since then had been spent scouring every government database, every network linked security camera that she could find, trying to get their location. The government, frustratingly enough, kept their witness protection files well-protected.</p><p> </p><p>Isharnai, the industrialist loan shark that had been responsible for Nott’s current predicament (and also been responsible for no shortage of Beau’s misery as well) was still active, still very much willing to do bad things to the people that wronged her. It would have been so much easier if they’d just been able to kill her, but apparently there were some powerful people in the world that didn’t want that to happen.</p><p> </p><p>But if she could find Luc and Yeza…Find them, and…and even just make sure that they were still alive, that they were still safe. But Nott’s life had never really been filled with luck like that. It’d been filled with the sort of luck that got her locked up in a cell on Pirate Island with a strangely handsome, yet very filthy wizard. The sort of luck that found her in a body she didn’t recognize, the result of magics she didn’t know or understand. Magics that <em>Caleb</em> didn’t know or understand, which was actually much more worrying. Not that she’d told him the full truth of her predicament yet.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever Caleb had been through, he hadn’t yet revealed, but Nott could tell just from looking at him that it must have been something bad. There was a reason, after all that someone so brilliant, someone so innovative, was stuck grading the papers of kids that would prefer to be out getting high than studying. That reason was Trent Ikithon, though Nott didn’t quite know the how, or the what, or the why. Just that this was a person that she hated with every essence of her being, even though she’d never met him. If he was the reason that Caleb’s eyes went over blank every time they lit the fireplace, or went silent every time Jester talked about her parents…</p><p> </p><p>But that wasn’t what she was supposed to be looking for.</p><p> </p><p>She was looking for a little halfling boy with a wide smile, and a fumbling halfling man who thought the world of his wife, Veth Brenatto.</p><p> </p><p>It had been a very long time since she was ever Veth Brenatto.</p><p> </p><p>Now, she was Nott.</p><p> </p><p>Or, if you wanted to get technical, she was n0tt-t43-br4v3, who definitely hadn’t trashed entire systems to hide the tracks of what she was really looking for.</p><p> </p><p>Looking for a past she was trying very hard to hang onto, looking for a future that she hoped was still out there.</p><p> </p><p>For now, that had to be enough.</p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Nila had left by the time Beau got home. Though she had a room at the house, the firbolg also had a small apartment in the Mudfields where she lived with her husband and her son. Beau had offered to pay for something nice – got to do something with all that ridiculous family money that was otherwise gathering dust – but Nila had smiled, and made a freaking amazing vegetarian lasagna, and somehow after two helpings, she had sort of forgotten about it. By design, Beau was sure. Nila loved to give, but, like Caleb, she was very reluctant to accept charity.</p><p> </p><p>The operations room was empty, which wasn’t unusual. Nott sometimes did other work in there, when they didn’t have a mission (Beau had definitely walked in on her transferring funds to a Marquesian bank account once), but there was an eerie sort of silence that told Beau that it had been some time since the goblin had left.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb was where she expected him to be, which was the library. These days, she rarely found him anywhere else, except when he left to go to class or have long, mysterious meetings with someone he refused to tell her about.</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t want to go in there.</p><p> </p><p>There were secrets between them, of course – no relationship that Beau had ever had had been without its secrets – but this was one that he had been so clearly trying to keep that she didn’t want to force him to reveal it.</p><p> </p><p>But, given that this person, this <em>Astrid</em> clearly had knowledge of what had happened in the Dunrock Mountains (and maybe even an itchy trigger finger), Beau knew that she had to do the uncomfortable thing.</p><p> </p><p>‘Caleb,’ Beau said. She could not keep the heaviness from her voice. ‘I need to ask you…I need to tell you something.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Can it wait?’ he asked, not looking up from his book. ‘I am in the middle of some very—’</p><p> </p><p>‘Does the name “Bren” mean anything to you?’</p><p> </p><p>He stopped, cold. Shut the book with shaking hands. Mournful, blue eyes looked up at her; he seemed as though he’d aged a decade in the space of five seconds. ‘<em>Gottverdammt. Scheiße, verdammt nochmal! Wo</em>—’ He stopped, and seemed to realize that he was speaking to a person that was not fluent in Zemnian. Beau had at least enough of the language to recognize swearing when she heard it. ‘Where did you hear that name?’ His voice shook.</p><p> </p><p>Beau took the photo from her pocket. Astrid had told her to keep it, to give Curator Turray a call if she ever saw this person. It was a call that Beau would never make.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ach</em>,’ he muttered. ‘This was a very long time ago. Where did you get this, Beauregard?’ There was an urgency in his voice that she had never heard before. No, that wasn’t true. She’d heard it once before, on the day she’d met him, in a dark cell on a dark island in the middle of a dark ocean.</p><p> </p><p>‘There was a woman,’ Beau continued. Caleb’s eyes snapped upwards, somehow even wider in horror. ‘Maybe ten years older than me. Kinda dark blonde hair. Scar on her face like mine. Asking lots of questions.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Did she…’ Caleb paused, and pulled up his sleeves. He took off his gloves. Somehow, in three years of knowing Caleb, Beau had never seen his forearms.</p><p> </p><p>Now, she knew why.</p><p> </p><p>From wrist to elbow, there were small scars, each about an inch long – too thick and too heavy to have been made by a razor blade, but too uniform to be an accident.</p><p> </p><p>‘I didn’t see,’ Beau told him. ‘She was wearing long sleeves. I could draw her if you want.’ Not that she was in any way good at drawing. ‘Oh, wait. Her name was Astrid if that helps.’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb’s fist clenched so hard that his already pale skin turned a deathly white. He was breathing so heavily that Beau was afraid he was about to have a heart attack. ‘Whoah,’ she said. ‘Hey, Caleb are you—’</p><p> </p><p>‘What are you doing?!’ came a screechy voice from the doorway. ‘What did you say to him?’ Nott ran in, and approached Caleb carefully. ‘Caleb? Is everything okay?’</p><p> </p><p>At the sound of Nott’s voice, Caleb jerked back to the world. ‘<em>Ja</em>,’ he said, but Beau didn’t believe it for a second. ‘<em>Ja,</em> I am okay.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m sorry, man,’ Beau said, immediately. She stared at the photo. ‘I didn’t realize…I just thought you should know, is all.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I am going to ask you some questions, Beauregard, and your answer to them is of the utmost importance.’ Caleb still sounded as though he was half-dissociated, talking to her like she was a fellow professor who disagreed with him on a point of historical record. ‘What did you tell her?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau sat down. ‘She asked me if  I knew Bren Alric Ermendrud, and I said “no, I’ve never heard that name before in my life,” so then she showed me the photo, and asked if I’d seen this kid before, and I told her I hadn’t.’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb’s face was stark white. ‘Do you think that she believed you?’ Beau shrugged.</p><p> </p><p>‘She was asking a lot of questions that I wasn’t exactly comfortable with,’ she told him. ‘About what happened in Xhorhas, about what I knew about Dunamancy, so by the time she asked about some teenage kid with acne and braces, I was already pretty well into a lying mindset.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I did not have acne,’ Caleb muttered, staring at the photo. He seemed almost lost in it. Lost in the memories. ‘I was…I was just a boy.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Caleb, you don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to,’ Nott was saying, and Beau hated herself for wanting to disagree. Not because she didn’t respect his privacy, but because <em>she</em> was the one on Astrid’s radar. She was the one who had garnered the Cerberus Assembly’s attention. If, as she suspected, that they were responsible for the soldiers that had been in the mountains, then they were all really fucking screwed.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb seemed to read her mind. ‘If they wanted you dead, then you would be dead.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Maybe,’ Beau conceded. ‘But the way I see it, the only reason I <em>am</em> still alive is that they think I have a Beacon that I don’t have.’ Both Caleb and Nott looked suddenly started, and Beau remembered that she had maybe forgotten to mention that part of the conversation with Astrid.</p><p> </p><p>‘That is…somewhat problematic,’ Caleb admitted. The color had not yet returned to his face.</p><p> </p><p>‘Look, Caleb. I understand keeping secrets. Gods know I’ve got a fucking shitton. But if there’s something you can tell me that keeps all of us a little safer, then please fucking tell me.’</p><p> </p><p>Nott said something in a hissy sort of voice that Beau wasn’t quite listening to. Something about being nicer to Caleb. It always got a bit like this when Beau and Caleb butted heads. Admittedly, it was not as frequent an occurrence as it had once been.</p><p> </p><p>‘I am not ready to talk about it,’ Caleb said. ‘But…but I will deal with it. Can you trust me when I say that?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau hesitated. Once upon a time, she would have said “no” without even thinking about it. Now, though, they had been working together for so long, she could say, with only the slightest hint of lie, ‘Of course I do, man.’ She went to clap him on the shoulder, and then stopped herself. ‘If you…If you want to talk, you know we’re both here for you, right?’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb gave an uneasy sort of smile. ‘<em>Ja</em>,’ he said. ‘<em>Ja,</em> I know.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau wasn’t sure whether or not she believed him.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>It was late.</p><p> </p><p>Even at this time of night, though, Port Damali was pulsing with life. Sailors, and smugglers, and criminals from all the world over converged on the port city, bringing gold, and goods, and all sorts of things into the city.</p><p> </p><p>The <em>Wildmother’s Grace</em> had made port not long after sunset, but it had taken several hours after disembarkation before Fjord had finally been able to make it home. On the way, he stopped at the Fish Market, a semi-upmarket sort of place that sold gourmet fish and chips. The cook on his ship was not bad by any stretch of the word, but there was only so much you could do with a chest freezer full of ready-made meals.</p><p> </p><p>As much as he liked being out at sea, as much as he enjoyed the breeze sweeping across his hair, enjoyed the taste of salt on his lips, enjoyed staring out at the endless expanse of blue-green, only broken by the occasional breach of a whale or a dragon-turtle, some days it was a relief to be on dry land.</p><p> </p><p>Not to mention, while he was on land, he didn’t get that ominous, sinking feeling in the bottom of his stomach, like there was something waiting for him at the depths of the ocean. That same feeling he’d had ever since they’d fled the temple of Uk’otoa after awakening something that should not have been awakened. Beau had emailed him no small amount of research on the leviathan that they had accidentally maybe sort of gotten the attention of, but it was dense reading, and he had never much been one for books.</p><p> </p><p>Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Once upon a time, he had enjoyed reading books, but it was the sort of thing (along with having tusks, and being an orphan, and being a half-orc) that he had been teased for as a child. Somehow, after leaving foster care, he’d never quite picked it up again. If there was one thing his childhood <em>had</em> taught him, it was how to hide his true self away from the world.</p><p> </p><p>Definitely the sort of thing a person thought about while eating fish and chips.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord was just licking his fingers clean of vinegar when the doorbell rang. It came as something of a surprise; not even Beau or Jester knew where he actually lived. They maybe even thought that he stayed on the boat all the time.</p><p> </p><p>It was far too late for it to be a delivery, and in any case, there was nothing he had ordered. It was with some trepidation that Fjord approached the entry hall, pausing only to wipe his greasy hands on his trousers. Certainly not the worst stains those trousers had seen. Even though he was captain, he spent enough time on deck, and in the engine room, and helping out with other tasks that he had seen some grime in his time.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord looked through the peephole, and saw nothing. He almost cut his losses and left it well alone, but Fjord’s entire existence had been predicated on <em>never</em> leaving things alone that he should.</p><p> </p><p>He opened the door.</p><p> </p><p>At first, he though someone might have dingdong ditched him, but then he saw the shadow.</p><p> </p><p>The shadow towered over Fjord, and in the pale moonlight and bright city lights, he could just about make out a tall, grey-skinned, pink-haired figure.</p><p> </p><p>A firbolg.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord fumbled for the hall light. He had never seen a firbolg in Port Damali before. They didn’t often venture this far south, and if they did, it wasn’t to a random apartment building in the Larboard Light district. The particular firbolg was wearing a teal-green button-down shirt, and a pair of brown trousers that looked like they might be made of hemp. With a staff in his hand, and a leather pack on his back, he half-looked as though he’d traveled a long way to get here.</p><p> </p><p>‘Can I help you?’ Fjord asked, frowning. Strangers at the door in Port Damali was not generally a good sign. The Myriad had enough of a purchase on the city that it paid not to piss off the wrong people, and Fjord had turned down enough smugglers that he wasn’t entirely certain of his own safety.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, hey there,’ the firbolg said. ‘My name is Caduceus Clay. Do you think I could get a cup of tea? It’s been a bit of a long journey.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Everyone's here, and it only took 57,000 words. </p><p>Come find me at thefriendlymurderer.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Fallacies and Foresight (Part One)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>X – Fallacies and Foresight (Part One)</p><p> </p><p>Fjord made tea.</p><p> </p><p>Or, more accurately, he boiled the water, because his just-arrived houseguest, Caduceus Clay, had brought his own tea.</p><p> </p><p>From the backpack he had set by the table on the floor, the firbolg pulled out about a dozen small jars, each filled with various amounts of loose leaf. One looked green, and had flecks of star-shaped purple, one was a darker brown with some small, shriveled orange fruits. The one at the end was almost gone, and looked like it had something akin to rose petals in it.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hmmm…’ Caduceus seemed to consider his options. ‘Normally this late, I’d go for the sleepytime, but we have some things to discuss, so maybe a nice lemongrass and ginger.’ He chose a jar in the middle that was near full to the brim with what looked like brown and yellow sticks. Fjord didn’t mind tea at all; he often started his day with a cup, even when he was on the water, but he had no idea that there were so many different kinds.</p><p> </p><p>‘Are you hungry?’ he asked. ‘I don’t have much in the cupboards, but I think I have eggs.’ Fjord wasn’t much of a cook, and, given that he had been at sea for several weeks, the eggs were probably none too fresh.</p><p> </p><p>‘Tell you what,’ Caduceus offered. ‘I could probably whip something up with what you’ve got at hand.’</p><p> </p><p>And that was how Fjord found himself sitting at his kitchen table drinking lemongrass and ginger tea while a firbolg he had never met before in his life whipped up what looked like a stirfry from the vegetables in the freezer. Thankfully, there was a little more than just ketchup in the pantry, but this mysterious traveler gave the impression that he probably could have made a decent meal with just vegetables and ketchup.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hmm.’ Caduceus tasted the stir-fry. ‘Could use a little more kick.’ He went back to his bag, and pulled two more jars (Fjord wondered if there was anything in there other than jars). One jar was filled with a spice mix, and the other looked like dried mushrooms.</p><p> </p><p>‘Those aren’t, ah…<em>special</em> mushrooms are they?’ Fjord asked, a little nervously.</p><p> </p><p>‘No,’ the firbolg smiled. ‘Why, do you want some special ones?’ He made to go back to the bag, and Fjord held up a hand.</p><p> </p><p>‘No, no,’ he said. ‘It’s fine.’ There was a long pause. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but, ah…who the fuck are you, and why are you here?’</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus didn’t seem insulted by the question. If anything, he seemed to have been expecting it. ‘I am, ah…a follower of the Wildmother, would be one way to put it. I hail from the Blooming Grove in the Greying Wildlands.’</p><p> </p><p>Fjord knew a little bit about the Greying Wildlands, but had never heard of the Blooming Grove. It sounded like…there was a restaurant down by the docks of Port Damali that sold blooming onions, which were basically a deep-fried flower of onion. He was fairly certain that Caduceus Clay did not come from a deep-fried forest, but it was the only thing he could think about in the moment.</p><p> </p><p>‘The Wildmother has instructed me to assist you on your quest.’</p><p> </p><p>There were a couple of things about that sentence that made Fjord raise an eyebrow. For one thing, he had never heard of people being able to talk to their Gods. At least not in a way that had the Gods actually responding. Not since…not for a very long time.</p><p> </p><p>As for the other thing: “assist you on your quest.” As far as Fjord was aware, he didn’t really <em>have</em> a quest. Sure, there were those vague plans about finding the next temple of Uk’otoa, but he wouldn’t go so far as to consider that a “quest.” Not to mention, he was hardly important enough for the Wildmother to give her follower directions to assist.</p><p> </p><p>But, he was not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Plus, even though Fjord had never seen Caduceus before in his life, the firbolg was so genial, so relaxed that he couldn’t help but trust him.</p><p> </p><p>Maybe that would come back to bite him, but who knew.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, Caduceus,’ he said. ‘What are your nautical skills like?’</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus paused, and took a very long moment to consider the question. Finally, he said, ‘What does nautical mean?’</p><p> </p><p><em>Oh boy</em>, Fjord thought. This was going to be interesting.</p><p>…</p><p>Beau made her way to the attic.</p><p> </p><p>It was one part among many in the house that she rarely ventured to; the only thing up there was a few dozen boxes of her parents’ things that she hadn’t quite gotten around to getting rid of yet. She wouldn’t wear any of the clothes herself, but maybe Jester wouldn’t mind a few dozen fancy velvet dresses.</p><p> </p><p>For some unfathomable reason, the house was a bit of a dead spot in terms of phone coverage. There were some parts of it where Beau would not get any reception at all, in spite of them being just a stone’s throw from Mount Mentiri and the cell tower on top of it. Sometimes she had to walk around for a few minutes before she got a signal. She could get better phone coverage in the middle of the fucking Lucidian Ocean than in her own living room.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, given that Kamordah was pretty much a terrible hellscape where nothing good happened, it wasn’t surprising that there was this other strike against it. That, in addition to the fact that Beau couldn’t even walk barefoot through her own property without burning the soles of her feet was a pretty egregious situation in her opinion.</p><p> </p><p>So, a couple of times a day, Beau wandered back and forth, getting all the messages she missed when she was in the library, or her bedroom.</p><p> </p><p>There were six voicemails from Jester.</p><p> </p><p>Beau knew better than to think that it was an emergency. If it were an emergency, there would only be one voicemail.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Hi, Beau, it’s me, Jester, I guess you know that because it tells you who you got a voicemail from. Anyway, I—Oh, shit, fu-!</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I swear, they never give you enough time on these things. You know how you asked me to find a pirate ship?  Well I don’t—</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Okay, I’ve got it now. I don’t know any pirates, and I asked my mama and my dad, and </em>they<em> don’t know any pirates either—</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>—my dad knows some guys in the Myriad (I kind of thing that maybe actually he’s in charge of the guys in the Myriad) but—</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>—he said that he wouldn’t trust them not to slit my throat while I was sleeping, and I said “Dad, I slit</em> so many<em> throats</em>—’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>—while people are asleep, I know how to have it not happen to me, but anyway, oh shit, I think I’m almost out of minutes</em>—’</p><p> </p><p>And that was where it ended. Beau gave a slight chuckle. She went back downstairs, dusted off the landline (which was still, for some reason connected) and called Jester.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Beau!</em>’ Jester sounded very excited. ‘<em>Did you get my messages?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Beau gave a slight chuckle. ‘Yeah, Jes, I got your messages.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Oh good. Sometimes I leave you messages and you never respond, so I don’t know whether you got them or not</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>A sudden wave of guilt washed over Beau. She had sort of kind of maybe ignored Jester’s messages once or twice.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Oh, okay, good. I ran out of minutes and had to go find a store so—</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Beau interrupted her. ‘Why don’t you just go on a plan?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I am, but I was calling you on my work phone, so the number changes every few months…</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Right. Assassin with a burner phone. Probably not a great idea to have a cell plan. <em>Wait— </em>‘Why do I not get to have your real number?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>If I get caught, do you want me to have you in my call history?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>It was a fair point. Not that Jester would ever get caught; not because she was too careful, but because no-one would ever believe that such a disarmingly charming individual could be capable of such heinous acts. Hells, Beau hardly believed it herself, and she had seen Jester kill several people.</p><p> </p><p>‘Anyway,’ Beau said. Jester getting distracted was what had gotten them into this conversation, and Beau didn’t want to let herself fall into the same trap. ‘Did you find a pirate that’s willing to take us to a mysterious island in the middle of the Lucidian Ocean.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Orly’s meeting us in Port Damali in three days.</em>’</p><p> </p><p>Beau frowned. ‘I asked you to look for a pirate ship, and you called <em>Orly</em>?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau liked Orly. She liked him a lot, actually. He didn’t take any bullshit, but at the same time, inconveniences were of little importance to him. He’d taken her out to some wrecks in the Deep Row Reef more than once, because most commercial diving ventures wouldn’t touch the place. Way too close to Darktow. Most importantly, though, he gave sick tattoos.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Why didn’t </em>you<em> call Orly</em>?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Because who knows how dangerous this is gonna be? I’d rather risk the lives of some assholes I’m never gonna see again.’ Not the whole truth. The simple reason, that she didn’t quite want to admit, was that she hadn’t even thought about calling Orly. Rookie mistake.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>We’ll be </em>fine,’ Jester said, in that voice that Beau knew meant that she didn’t really believe it. ‘<em>We will be fine, right?</em>’</p><p> </p><p>‘Sure,’ Beau said, in an offhand sort of voice. ‘Going to a mysterious jungle temple to potentially anger an angry sea snake. We’ll definitely be fine.’</p><p>…</p><p>Caleb didn’t want to come.</p><p> </p><p>Well, that wasn’t exactly what he said. He said, ‘I cannot come.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau raised an eyebrow. She had thought she knew Caleb pretty well, but clearly not well enough that he was willing to be entirely honest with her in this situation. This was frustrating, but, given that he didn’t seem to have told Nott these secrets either, she was willing to accept it.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Nein</em>, <em>nein</em>,’ Caleb told her. ‘You go to Fjord. If you act out of the ordinary from what you already do, then they will be suspicious. I will, ah…lie low here. I think if they knew that I lived here, they would have already come knocking down the door.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau hesitated. She didn’t want to leave him here alone, and told him as much.</p><p> </p><p>‘He won’t be alone!’ Nott said, with more than a little fire in her voice. ‘There’s no fucking way I’m getting on a boat, so I’m staying here with him.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau did admit she would feel more comfortable if someone kept an eye on Caleb. And in lieu of her being able to clone herself and stay there with him, Nott was an acceptable option. She wouldn’t tell either of them, but she also wanted to give Dairon a call, and ask if they could pretty please keep an eye on things from a distance. Plus, it probably wouldn’t hurt to get Nila to keep a safe distance for a while. It was one thing if Caleb’s past came back to haunt him, but Nila hadn’t signed up for any of that.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ja,</em>’ Caleb agreed, when Beau brought it up. ‘<em>Ja, </em>that is a very good idea, <em>danke</em>. I will talk to her.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Give her something from the stash.’ In the basement vault, next to the biometric safe was a slightly less secure safe that had nothing but cash in it, albeit cash from several different currencies. A stack of gold notes would go a long way in making sure that Nila’s family stayed safe. Maybe that would give them the funds to return home to the Crispvale Thicket.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb nodded.</p><p> </p><p>Beau made to leave, but Caleb put a hand on her shoulder. He wasn’t looking her in the eye, instead directing his blank stare towards the wall. ‘Beauregard,’ he said. ‘It is a dangerous world out there.’ He paused. ‘Please be safe.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau put her hand atop of Caleb’s. ‘You too,’ she said. For a moment, there was nothing but silence between them, and then:</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey, I’m fucking here too!’</p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Flights to Port Damali weren’t cheap.</p><p> </p><p>Though it was only a few hours by plane, it was still, technically, international travel, which always meant the price was jacked up arbitrarily. Thankfully, though, it was still possible to get a Visa on Arrival at the Port Damali airport for fifty gold. Getting the right paperwork was one of the more painful parts of hunting for treasure.</p><p> </p><p>Beau booked a flight for the following morning, and went upstairs to pack. The room she had at the house was scarcely more personal than the tiny corner with a bunk and a single chest for all her personal belongings. Here, at least, there was a little more space, and Beau’s collection of gear had gotten so large that it had spread out into another of the otherwise empty rooms in the house (of which there were many).</p><p> </p><p>Some of the things that would have been helpful, she probably shouldn’t fly with; SCUBA tank, flare gun, even her diving knife might raise a few eyebrows if Customs were feeling particularly narky. The SCUBA tank would be easy enough to borrow from Orly, and the rest she could probably pick up someone in Port Damali. There were no shortage of other weirdos looking for treasure in and around the reefs of the Menagerie Coast, so they would hopefully be easy enough to find.</p><p> </p><p>Even still, her wetsuit, and flippers, and other dive gear took up a decent portion of her luggage. It took a lot of cajoling to convince Nott, who didn’t want to leave Caleb for even a second, to drive her to the airport.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’ll keep in touch,’ Beau promised, as she hiked her pack onto her shoulders. There was no point in Nott accompanying her to the check-in desk. ‘Keep an eye on him, yeah?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I always do,’ Nott said.</p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Caleb laid low for as long as he could muster. Given that he had spent the last five years trying to lay low, it was a surprisingly difficult task. Laying low meant that there was very little he could do to act.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, after a very long argument conducted entirely within his own head, he made his move.</p><p> </p><p>‘I am going out.’ Caleb was wearing his dirty, old coat, and appeared to have smeared a fresh layer of dirt across his face. It was a disguise that he had not relied on in some time, and hopefully it would throw off any suspicion.</p><p> </p><p>Astrid, who had known him as a fresh-faced teenager wearing the robes of the Soltryce Academy, was not easily fooled, but perhaps it would be enough.</p><p> </p><p>‘It could be dangerous!’ Nott, who had been barely paying attention, immediately shut the lid of her laptop, and jumped to her feet. ‘This woman could be hiding around any corner, waiting to kill you.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I do not think that is likely,’ Caleb said, lightly. Not because Astrid (and by extension, Trent) wasn’t capably of it, but because they likely did not want him dead straight away. If they had been watching, then they knew that he had been meeting with a member of the former Kryn Dynasty, and would want as much information as possible.</p><p> </p><p>It was a risk, then, to talk to Essek, but if there was one person in the world able to help him with this problem, it was Essek.</p><p> </p><p>Even last week, he would have said that the Cobalt Soul might have had an interest in taking on the Cerberus Assembly, but from what Beauregard had told him, the Zadash High Curator was as much in the pocket of the Assembly as anyone else in the Empire. Though the Kryn Dynasty had been  banished, many sources in Xhorhas indicated that they were still popular with many of the people there.</p><p> </p><p>‘Would you feel more comfortable if you came with me?’ It was not an offer he made lightly; after all, thus far his interactions with Essek had been…charged in one way or another. He was not sure what bringing Nott into the equation would do to the dynamic.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes, I think I would.’ Caleb pretended not to notice when Nott put her gun in its tiny ankle holster inside her boot. He did not think Essek would be insulted if he saw it. On the contrary, he would probably be amused by it. Theoretically, they had moved far beyond the confines of what could be done with speeding projectiles. Even still, he sent a message ahead, warning that they were on their way.</p><p> </p><p>They moved carefully. Nott went and brought her Hummer into the garage, and made a show of loading some boxes and crates into the back seat. Then, Caleb got into the trunk. Though he was surrounded by the boxes and crates, any discriminating eye could see him in there if they looked hard enough. At least, they would until Nott pulled the cover over. It was ostensibly supposed to stop thieves from seeing what was in your car, but in this case, it could be the difference between the Cerberus Assembly finding him and not finding him.</p><p> </p><p>‘Are you sure that this is okay?’ Nott asked, as she went to shut the hatch. ‘I’m sure I could make you look like a different person.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Ja,</em> I think this is the best way to do it.’ Caleb had some reservations, though most of them revolved around allowing Nott to drive with him unrestrained in the trunk. She had been the at-fault party in several motor vehicle accidents. Admittedly, it didn’t help that she could barely see over the steering wheel, even with her custom-designed seat and pedals.</p><p> </p><p>This time, though, she was remarkably cautious as they made the journey to Zadash. From what he could tell, in his little cocoon of darkness, she was even stopping at all of the red lights.</p><p> </p><p>Essek had laid out cheese and crackers, and he seemed uncharacteristically nervous. “Do I need to give someone the shovel talk?” was the question that Nott had asked on the drive over. Caleb still wasn’t entirely sure what she meant.</p><p> </p><p>Caleb greeted Essek with a handshake that, for half a moment looked like it might turn into something more, but Essek caught the look Nott gave him, and pulled back slightly.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you have a bathroom I could use?’ Nott asked, suddenly. Caleb fixed a stare on her: a stare that said, “Please do not steal anything.” He didn’t think she would. Or at least hoped that was the case.</p><p> </p><p>‘Ah,’ Essek’s voice was low. Nervous. ‘Your friends. The short one and the angry one.’ He gave a glance towards the bathroom, where Nott was no doubt busy lining her pockets.</p><p> </p><p>‘Nott and Beauregard,’ Caleb said. There were certainly far more insulting ways of describing them.</p><p> </p><p>‘Ah, yes. They assist you in your research?’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb considered the question. ‘It is more accurate to say that I assist them,’ he said. It was by design, of course. He had been hurt by far too many people, had himself hurt far too many people to consider letting fate wrap its machinations around him.</p><p> </p><p>‘Let me rephrase,’ Essek said, musingly. ‘Are they aware the extent to which you have been engaging in this research?’ He gestured towards his library, and the large collection of books on Dunamancy.</p><p> </p><p>That wasn’t the question he was really asking. Caleb was no fool. The question he was really asking was “how much do they know about me?”</p><p> </p><p>‘I have, ah…allowed them to believe that any recent windfall of information is the result of my own research efforts.’ That was not the whole truth. He had not told Beau and Nott the details of these sessions, or even that they were occurring at all. They did not know of the magic he was trying to learn. ‘I am here for…different reasons.’</p><p> </p><p>Essek raised an eyebrow.  He could not fail to miss the significance that Caleb had layered into his voice. ‘Is everything alright?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I do not know,’ Caleb admitted. ‘I, ah…’ It was a difficult thing to express in Common. ‘<em>Scheiße</em>. There are some things that have happened regarding my own past that are coming back to say…haunt me.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Ah.’ Essek looked surprisingly understanding. Empathetic, even. ‘I am well-versed in the unforeseen consequences of things. One would think that a limited ability to bend time to one’s will would result in better foresight.’</p><p> </p><p>Caleb laughed. What he would have given to have such command over the nature of things. ‘The Cerberus Assembly,’ he said, and Essek’s expression shifted. It looked, for a moment, almost…horrified. ‘Have you heard of them?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I…yes, I have heard of them, though I have not had dealings.’ That was not the whole truth. Caleb could tell that much. Essek was hiding something from him.</p><p> </p><p>‘I ah…had some dealings with them myself.’ That was an understatement. ‘Some time ago. They…we are not the best of friends, to say the least. I have recently come back onto their radar, and…well, there are not a lot of ways forward that I can see. They are a cancer that needs to be excised.’</p><p> </p><p>Essek’s hands were steepled beneath his chin, and he seemed to take in Caleb’s words with rapt attention. He did not even turn his gaze when Nott returned to the room, with pockets slightly more filled than they ought to have been.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you know,’ Essek said, sounding suddenly contemplative. ‘I think there are a few things we can do to help each other.’</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>Fjord couldn’t pick her up from the airport. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. ‘And I still don’t have all of it. Maybe I could meet you for dinner?’</p><p> </p><p>Dinner sounded like a fantastic idea. Beau dumped all of her stuff off at the hotel, and took a long nap. Her phone alarm went off just before six, and she had a long, hot shower before dressing.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord was meeting her at a bar in the Larboard Light district called the <em>Drunken Sailor</em>. It was a nice night, and Beau had very vague plans to get reasonably drunk, so she decided to walk.</p><p> </p><p>Before she’d even walked a hundred feet, she’d seen a dozen tourists, and a dozen more sailors. The Larboard Light had what passed for nightlife in Port Damali. Admittedly, it was a much more exciting night life than Kamordah, or even Zadash. People that were in town for one night, and had just been handed a stack of coin to spend meant that there was a lot of good business to be had near the docks.</p><p> </p><p>The <em>Drunken Sailor </em>was no exception to that rule. Though it was only seven o’clock, it was already boasting a roaring trade. Beau couldn’t see a single empty table, and it took several minutes of peering before she found Fjord sitting near the back.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t alone.</p><p> </p><p>Looking like the most mismatched pair Beau had ever seen was Fjord and a seven-foot tall, pink-haired, grey-skinned firbolg.</p><p> </p><p>Beau stared at them. ‘Hi,’ she said.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hi there,’ Fjord said. He looked…not aggrieved, but mildly resigned at his choice of companion. ‘This is Caduceus,’ Fjord told her, gesturing to the firbolg sitting next to him. Caduceus was staring at the glass of beer from all angles, as though trying to figure out what it was. ‘It’s a long story. He’ll be…he’ll be joining us on our trip.’</p><p> </p><p>‘What is this?’ the firbolg asked, finally. He took a sip, and then immediately pushed the glass away in disgust.</p><p> </p><p>‘You never seen beer before?’ Beau asked, slightly incredulously.</p><p> </p><p>‘Ah…I mostly stay away from towns. Don’t go into a lot of bars. I gather it’s some kind of alcohol? My sister, Calliope used to ferment fruit to make alcohol, but we never really had beer.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau stared at Fjord. ‘Are you kidding me?’ she mouthed at him, over the back of Caduceus’s shoulder. Somehow, even though she hadn’t made a sound, he seemed to notice it.</p><p> </p><p>‘He knocked on my door, and said he was here to help,’ Fjord explained, in what he clearly knew was something of a feeble voice.</p><p> </p><p>‘I may not have the most experience in these sorts of matters,’ Caduceus told her, in the least serene voice she had heard from him so far. ‘But I have conviction in my beliefs.’</p><p> </p><p>‘And what are those beliefs?’ Beau wasn’t trying to challenge him. She was just genuinely curious that a guy that looked like he took more skein than even Molly ever had (which was saying something) was doing joining them on a trip to visit the temple of an eldritch sea god.</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus smiled, like he had been waiting so long for someone to ask him. ‘That we all have a path that we’re supposed to follow, and that it was no accident that brought us all together. Even now, the machinations of fate are weaving separate paths into one.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I mean,’ Beau said. ‘You did choose to knock on his door, right? You could just have easily decided <em>not</em> to do it.’</p><p> </p><p>‘And yet I did it anyway,’ he said, cheerfully, either not getting her point, or being purposefully obtuse. Beau decided, for once in her life, to drop it. She kinda wished that she had that much faith in…well, anything.</p><p> </p><p>‘So what are Caleb and Nott doing?’ Fjord asked, flagging down the bartender for more drinks. ‘You were kind of vague on the phone.’</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t the sort of thing she wanted to discuss in public, much less in front of a stoner that she’d just met. ‘Ah, they’re…they’ve got some stuff they need to sort out.’ Caduceus’s eyes seemed to burn right through her. He knew she was being purposefully obtuse. Definitely more keen-eyed than she would have expected.</p><p> </p><p>‘Anything we need to worry about?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I sure hope not,’ Beau muttered, meaning, really, <em>yes.</em> At this point, she trusted that Caleb wasn’t going to cut and run, but she didn’t like the way things were heading. Caleb had promised that he wouldn’t pull the trigger on anything until Beau returned, but Beau was still a little apprehensive. She hoped like hell she wasn’t making the wrong decision in coming to help Fjord, rather than staying to help Caleb. ‘Jester’s meeting us tomorrow, yeah?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I believe so,’ Fjord nodded. ‘She also told me that she hired an extra pair of hands.’ He paused. ‘I have no idea what she meant by that.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau snorted. She had a pretty good idea of what Jester could have meant, but that probably would have involved more expletives.</p><p> </p><p>‘Knowing Jester,’ she said, ‘I’m not sure I want to know.’</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>The next day came far too quickly for Beau’s liking. She had, as predicted, gotten nicely drunk, and just managed to avoid the temptation of taking a very attractive half-orc woman home with her.</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, as she checked out of the hotel and made her way to the docks, her head was throbbing hard. Not even the painkillers she had taken just after getting up had helped in that regard.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Are you here yet?</em>’ Jester had texted her at some ungodly hour, which meant that Jester was probably already on the ship, waiting.</p><p> </p><p>Beau stared out across the docks. There was no shortage of ships moored there, some fishing vessels, some cargo ships, some tourist ships, and many, Beau was sure, smuggler’s ships.</p><p> </p><p>The <em>Squall-Eater</em> was a coastal trading vessel, generally doing runs between the cities along the menagerie coast, manoeuvrable enough to get away from the Zholezo ships and to avoid the reefs, but sturdy enough that it wasn’t going to get knocked out in a storm. Not that the Zholezo paid much attention to Orly, who, like Jester, kept his misdeeds beneath a layer of obfuscating charm. They saw a genial tortle smoking a pipe and playing the bagpipes, and didn’t look for the smuggled goods in the cargo hold. He also had diving gear, for when rich idiots like Beau wanted to go looking for sunken treasure.</p><p> </p><p>The only treasure Beau wanted to see right now was a big fucking glass of water. Instead, she saw Jester staring off into the distance from the deck of the <em>Squall-Eater</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Beau hiked her pack up onto her shoulder, and got onto the ship.</p><p> </p><p>Her head was pounding, like someone had turned on a jackhammer in there, and let it go full bore, like there was a fire giant with a club that kept slamming into the side of her cranium, like—</p><p> </p><p>Like she had just seen Yasha walking onto the dock, carrying her own pack, and a quizzical sort of look, as though she was looking for a particular ship.</p><p> </p><p>Headache forgotten, Beau stormed straight to the stern, where Jester had now hoisted herself up onto the railing, and had her arms out, ‘Oh, I’m flying, Oskar.’ She turned at the sound of footsteps, and jumped down from the railing, a look of mild embarrassment crossing her face.</p><p> </p><p>Beau grabbed Jester by the shoulder, and, ignoring the strange looks from the deckhands that were getting the ship ready to go, half-dragged her into what looked like a storage closet. ‘What the hell, Jester?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oooh, Beau, are we going to make out?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Why the fuck is Yasha here?’ She wasn’t angry, even though grabbing Jester and dragging her into a closet to demand an explanation might have indicated otherwise. Mostly, she was confused.</p><p> </p><p>An evil sort of grin curled over Jester’s face. ‘Because we needed the extra muscle. She’s the brawn.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I thought I was the brawn,’ Beau protested, even though she didn’t buy Jester’s explanation for a second.</p><p> </p><p>‘No, silly.’ Jester gave a slight push, which, as Beau wasn’t expecting it, almost knocked her over. ‘You’re the brains.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau was momentarily speechless. Even though half her life was predicated on being able to crack open a library book, it was rare that people acknowledged her intellectual achievements. Especially living in a house with Caleb, who, frankly, kind of made her feel like she knew nothing at times. Not because he was trying to, but because he was that much smarter than her.</p><p> </p><p>Even her father had taken a look at her grades (decent, for the most part) and asked why they weren’t better. As if there was that much difference between an A and an A plus.</p><p> </p><p>‘Didn’t you say you were going to take her out for dinner?’ Jester’s words cut through the haze in Beau’s mind.</p><p> </p><p>‘Huh?’</p><p> </p><p>‘To say thank-you for saving your life. Just picture it, a romantic, candlelit dinner on the deck of the <em>Ball-Eater</em>, eating fish tacos…’ Beau rolled her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s called the <em>Squall-Eater</em>,’ she said. ‘And I didn’t say I would take her out for dinner. What I said, is that it was complicated, and being stuck on a fucking boat with her for four weeks isn’t going to make it any <em>less</em> complicated.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You just have to fuck her and be done with it,’ said Jester, for whom the entirety of her romantic experience had come from watching internet porn.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m sure that will solve all of our problems.’ Beau couldn’t deny that the idea of easing some of the tension through sex was actually pretty appealing, but she wasn’t about to tell Jester that. She took a deep breath, and stepped back out onto the deck.</p><p> </p><p>She would have to get this over with eventually.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, she waited until the middle of the night, long after they’d set off, and found Yasha standing near the stern, staring up at the sky.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha, for her part, didn’t look surprised to see Beau, as though coming out to talk to ex-lovers on a boat in the middle of the night was normal behavior.</p><p> </p><p>‘You, ah…look good,’ Yasha said. She gestured towards Beau’s leg. ‘Looking better than the last time I saw you at least.’ Given that Beau had been limping and bleeding and altogether disgusting the last time she’d seen Yasha, that was something of an understatement. For half a second, Beau wondered if Yasha was going to bring up the message. Then, Yasha said, ‘Jester hired me.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, I know. She told me. She did say that this could take like…two months, right?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Ah, yes, she told me. I have spent much longer than that away from home.’ Beau raised an eyebrow. Yasha was speaking as though a lot of those times hadn’t been spent together. Like the six months they’d spent in Tal’Dorei, seeking the ruins of the Ashari.</p><p> </p><p>Beau bit her lip. ‘Are we going to have a problem?’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha looked startled. ‘Why would we have a problem?’ she asked. Beau wondered then, if Yasha had even gotten the message that Beau had sent about wanting to talk, or if she was just being wilfully ignorant.</p><p> </p><p>‘I—Nothing, I just…we gotta work together, right?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Right,’ Yasha agreed. Though her face was bathed in moonlight, Beau could not interpret the expression. What did strike her, in that moment, was just how fucking beautiful Yasha was. Her profile looked like it had been carved from marble, smooth pale skin only adding to that statuesque nature. Since the day Beau had met her, Yasha had always looked like she had fallen from the stars, a little otherworldly, a little…well, angelic. ‘Are you okay with that?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, I mean…sure, I don’t have a problem. I just wanna make sure that you don’t have a problem, y’know?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t.’ Yasha’s voice was almost a whisper, and Beau could have sworn she’d seen a tear in Yasha’s eye.</p><p> </p><p>‘Did you…’ Beau took a deep breath. ‘Did you get my text?’</p><p> </p><p>There was a very long pause, during which the only sound was the ship moving through the water. ‘Yes,’ Yasha said, finally. ‘I…’ She hesitated. ‘I want to talk, but…I need to work out what I want to say.’</p><p> </p><p>‘O…kay.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau knew better than to think that she was going to get anything out of Yasha after that. For all that she was far gentler than anyone gave her credit for, she was also stubborn as fuck. Trying to get Yasha to talk when she didn’t want to was like getting blood from a stone.</p><p> </p><p> ‘It is a nice night,’ Yasha commented. Beau followed her gaze up to a star-studded sky. They were still close enough to shore that the lights of the city were interfering with visibility. Even still, it <em>was </em>a nice night; the Owlbear was hanging not far below Ruidis, a dark shadow in the sky, and the Moonweaver was a little way east of. They were the two major ones that Beau could pretty readily pick out this close to shore; once they got a little further out, the others would be a little easier to see.</p><p> </p><p>‘Did I ever tell you the story of how the Owlbear got its name?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes,’ Yasha said. It was a definitive answer, not leaving any room for retelling the story.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh.’ There was a long pause. ‘Oh well, goodnight, Yasha.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau did not wait for Yasha to respond, her appetite for conversation whetted. Instead, she made hasty retreat to her cabin. Marius LePual was sitting at the wheel of the ship, steering lazily even as he ate a sausage on a fork.</p><p> </p><p>In the cabin, it was mostly quiet. Jester’s snores from the bottom bunk were gentle, and consistent enough that they probably weren’t fake.</p><p> </p><p>Beau vaulted herself lightly onto the top bunk, narrowly avoiding the low ceiling. The number of times she’d been on the <em>Squall Eater</em>, she should have been used to it, but somehow, she always managed to hit her head on a doorway.</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t sleep a wink that night, and it was only partly as the result of the conversation with Yasha. The rest of her was thinking about the monumental task that lay ahead of them, in not only finding the Temple of Uk’otoa, but figuring out exactly how much more work she’d need to do in order to get her Primordial translating in a workable state.</p><p> </p><p>It was a weird language.</p><p> </p><p>Nouns, verbs, adjectives…Not a huge amount else.  Even pronouns…Instead of he, or she, or they, the language spoke of individuals in terms of descriptors, and no two Primordials or Elementals seemed to have the same descriptor. One that seemed to be mentioned a lot was “Exalted Demon,” another was “Great Leviathan” (and <em>that</em> sounded super familiar). It certainly helped that there were a lot fewer – she was hesitant to say “people” – entities around back then. It wouldn’t work these days; “annoying archaeologist” could refer to a few people that Beau knew. When the language evolved into Abyssal, the need for some of the more complicated word types became evident.</p><p> </p><p>At around two a.m., resigned to the fact that she almost certainly was not going to get any sleep, Beau pulled out her laptop and began working on her typology analysis. It had a few definites in there now, but not nearly enough that she would consider the tablet fully translated. Dairon had been a huge help, to the point where if Beau ever published a paper, she would probably at least need to offer the elf a second author spot. Dairon, who disliked the spotlight, and preferred to lurk in the shadows, would almost definitely refuse, but Beau would feel bad if she didn’t at least ask.</p><p> </p><p>The next morning, breakfast was a harrowing sort of affair. After a couple of hours of work (and frustratingly little progress) Beau had managed to get a little bit of fitful sleep. She didn’t get any weird dreams, which was nice, but she did wake when the sun pierced through the cabin window at an insultingly early hour. Everything was a bit of a blur until Fjord pressed a steaming hot mug of black coffee into her hands. It tasted like shit, but it did its job in getting her to wake the fuck up.</p><p> </p><p>Beau looked around, and realized that the whole group was there. Orly and Caduceus, sharing recipes, and Yasha and Jester, talking about…flowers? Then there was Fjord, sitting across from Beau, poring over the map of Menagerie Coast.</p><p> </p><p>‘Remind me where we’re going again?’ Beau asked. Fjord pointed to an island almost directly south of Nicodranas.</p><p> </p><p>‘Urukayxl.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Bless you.’ Fjord gave her a look.</p><p> </p><p>‘You know, many sailors believe that it’s cursed. I’m surprised that Orly agreed to take us here.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau shrugged. She decided against mentioning that Jester had given him several thousand gold to do it. Even superstition didn’t win out on gold. At least, for anyone who wasn’t her father, it didn’t. ‘You said other ships have already come here, right? What’s to say that they haven’t already taken what you’re looking for?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t know,’ Fjord said, frowning. ‘Faith?’</p><p> </p><p>At the word “faith,” Caduceus seemed to suddenly jerk his attention away from Orly and their discussion of bulgur wheat fritters. ‘Good to do things on faith,’ he said. ‘Of course, you have to make sure it’s the right path to take.’</p><p> </p><p>Fjord looked suddenly startled, as though he hadn’t even considered whether it was the right path. ‘What do you mean?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, what are your motivations for seeking out this temple? He isn’t a…well, he isn’t a good god after all, is he?’</p><p> </p><p>‘He’s not even a god,’ Beau pointed out. ‘He’s an elemental.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t know what that means,’ Caduceus said, genially. ‘But if he’s imprisoned under the ocean, shouldn’t he stay there?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t think anyone’s looking at freeing him.’ Beau very much hoped that no-one was looking at freeing him. She knew, at least, that <em>she</em> wasn’t planning on freeing him. She was just there out of historical curiosity, which, admittedly, could be dangerous at times. When there was a choice between translating one more line of text and avoiding getting crushed by falling rocks, sometimes it took her a few minutes to decide.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey M…miss Beauregard,’ Orly said, and Beau realized then, that he had been paying very close attention to their conversation. Or at least to the map that they were poring over. ‘The, ah…the wreck of the <em>T…T…Tidestorm</em>’s not too far from here. I don’t know if you want to…check it out.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau felt the exhaustion that had overcome her body disappear in an instant. Diving the <em>Tidestorm</em> was one of those things on her bucket list that she kept meaning to get around to. Another relic from the Age of Arcanum, thrumming with its ancient magics. She couldn’t stop herself from turning to Fjord, not daring to ask the question.</p><p> </p><p>Thankfully, Fjord was a touch more insightful than people gave him credit for. ‘It’s what, an extra day or two?’ he asked, and Beau nodded. Really, she could have let herself explore the ship for weeks on end, but that was selfish!Beau talking. ‘My thing can wait.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You sure?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau clapped him on the back. ‘I owe you one, man.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey, you are coming with me to find the lost temple of a sea serpent that we may have accidentally angered already. I’d say if there’s anyone that owes anything, it’s me.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You’re right.’ Beau grinned. ‘I’ll make a list, send you the bill.’</p><p> </p><p>They changed course.</p><p> </p><p>Orly was right; it was a lot closer than Beau had realized, and if she hadn’t been caught in a web of tunnel vision, she probably would have broached the subject herself. As it was, though, the thought of examining an Age of Arcanum ship overtook anything else in her head, including the questions she had for Fjord about what awaited them on Urukayxl.</p><p> </p><p>Beau had two choices for a dive partner: Fjord, or Yasha. Jester wasn’t certified, as far as Beau knew (though she did, for some reason have a license to officiate weddings, and to provide psychological help to dogs), and Beau still had no fucking clue what Caduceus’s deal was. Orly technically could have done it, but Beau preferred the idea of having him on the boat, just in case something went wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Deciding that she wasn’t so much of a masochist to put herself in <em>that</em> situation, Beau asked Fjord. Out of the corner of her eye, though, she was sure she saw Yasha give a sad sort of look. Beau had to tear herself away. She couldn’t worry about that right now.</p><p> </p><p>Even though it wasn’t <em>that</em> far out of the way, it took another four or five hours to reach their destination, a sheltered, out of the way spot in the Southern Gate Reef. Once they were done, it was a little way east to the Inkclaw Reef and Urukayxl. They would’ve had to go that way anyway</p><p> </p><p>Beau got changed into her wetsuit. She hadn’t worn it in a while, and had foolishly forgotten to try it on before leaving Kamordah. It still fit, but it was a little tight around the arms and the legs. Fjord, on the other hand, had to borrow one from the mix and match collection of gear on one of the lower decks, but somehow managed to look far more at ease on the water than she did.</p><p> </p><p>They checked each other’s gear, and did all the other usual pre-dive requirements. Predictably, Beau had forgotten several steps, of which Fjord had been forced to remind her. ‘This isn’t a walk in the park, remember?’ He stepped forward, to make his way down the ladder.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, yeah.’ Beau knew that. She’d been on some dangerous fucking dives before (not counting all the times she’d been shot at with a speargun). Some ruins she’d only been able to access by going through zero-visibility tunnels the size of an imp’s asshole.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was just about to follow him down, when she heard the bang. Then, a violent lurch rocked the ship, tipping them near sideways. She just about managed to grab hold of the railing, sopping wet and ears ringing.</p><p> </p><p><em>Was someone fucking </em>firing <em>at them</em>?</p><p> </p><p>‘What the fuck was that?!’ she called out, her own words still coming muffled and from far away.</p><p> </p><p>No-one answered. It was at about that point Beau realized that Fjord was gone from the ladder.</p><p> </p><p><em>Go after him</em>, said the voice in her head. The voice that wasn’t her voice.</p><p> </p><p>She took a deep breath. The world was still sort of spinning around her. Mask on, regulator in.</p><p> </p><p>She climbed down the ladder after him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Fallacies and Foresight (Part Two)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XI – Fallacies and Foresight (Part Two)</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha watched from the top deck. Beau had gone straight to Fjord to ask for a dive partner, and she couldn’t deny that it stung a little. After all, they’d been on a few dives during the time that they worked together and…did other things together. It felt like a distant sort of memory, of a life that Yasha felt like she no longer deserved.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She tore her gaze away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Jester had asked if she would be willing to come on this trip, Yasha had hesitated. Jester had made a point of being very clear that Beau was coming too, that it would mean spending an extended period of time in close quarters with people. The tiefling had very clearly been trying to insinuate something, but Yasha had not taken the bait. She was far too used to Jester trying to push her and Beau back together. Even if Jester did not know all of the backstory, she knew at least, that there had been a breakup, and that it had been volatile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Volatile, perhaps was the wrong word. Unhappy was maybe more appropriate.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Volatile was the word that would better describe the sudden explosive noise that hit her ears. A familiar sound that she had heard more often than she would have liked. The sound of artillery.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The whole ship seemed to shake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It couldn’t have been a direct hit. A direct hit would have torn through a ship this size like a knife through butter. Still, it had been close enough that they had almost capsized. Orly and the rest of his crew were doing…doing something to stabilize them. Jester looked shellshocked, even as she tried to hold tight to a railing, and Caduceus was…somehow entirely unrattled.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘There’s a ship on the horizon,’ Caduceus said. He was peering through a pair of binoculars. ‘They <em>fired</em> at us,’ He seemed to take it as a personal insult.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha frowned. The only military that would be operating in these waters was that of the Clovis Concord, and they wouldn’t have fired on anyone without hailing them first. ‘May I?’ she said to Caduceus. He handed over the binoculars.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha looked through them with a practiced ease. She was used to looking for danger through a glass lens. Moreover, she was used to finding it. Generally, if it got to the point that she was looking for it, it was probably there. In this case, the loud bang and the rocking of the ship had been a pretty good indicator.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ship was not military, but it did have cannons. They looked like perhaps they had been salvaged and retrofitted onto the much larger vessel. On the side of it, what Yasha assumed was the name of the ship was painted in peeling black letters: “The Mist”.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I r…reckon that was a warning shot,’ Orly was saying, even as he manned (tortled?) the controls. Yasha didn’t disagree. They were sitting ducks at anchor; any ship worth its salt wouldn’t have missed that target.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What do we do?’ Jester looked to Yasha for an answer. Yasha didn’t have one. If they weren’t actively being fired upon, then she was more concerned about the fact that they still had two people in the water. She hadn’t seen Beau and Fjord go in, but there was just as likely to be problems underwater as above water.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I think if we try to leave, the next shot won’t miss.’ Yasha agreed. Through the binoculars, she could see that the other ship was coming closer towards them. They would find out very quickly exactly what the other ship wanted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That said, Yasha had other concerns. ‘Go to my quarters,’ she told Jester. ‘Get my rifle.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jester, she knew, probably had a dozen weapons hidden all over her person that none of them could see, but in this situation, a rifle was going to be far more useful. ‘What are you—’ She followed Yasha’s gaze down to the water. ‘Oh…oh no!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I will go get them. You get my rifle!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Fjord wasn’t moving.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was the first thing Beau noticed. The second thing she noticed was the trail of blood that seemed to be emanating from his head. She kicked down faster.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p>It seemed to take an age to get to him, and the longer it took, the fewer air bubbles Beau could see coming from his mouth. It took several tries to get the regulator into his mouth</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She managed to hook an arm around his shoulders, and start heaving him upwards. It was a tough slog. Beau spent a lot of time in the gym, but she was far better at moving her own bodyweight around than she was at moving heavy objects in general.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even with the oxygen, every breath burned her lungs, every kick strained her legs. A bright light shined through the still-rippling surface of the ocean above. Beau could have sworn she saw a dark shadow there, and a hand reaching down to pull her up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau thrust Fjord towards the shadow, satisfied when he was yanked from her grasp.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Things were blurry for a little bit. Somehow, Beau managed to make it from the water, back up to the deck of the ship, but she could not remember surfacing, or even climbing up the ladder.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau was vaguely aware that there were some people on board that she didn’t recognize, but she didn’t know when they’d gotten there. Jester, and Yasha, and Fjord, were all there, as well as Orly, and Caduceus, and Marius. There was a middle-aged woman, and an enormous, club-wielding orc, and an insanely fucking hot red-headed elf in a sleeveless coat, and a pirate hat. Huh. Funny that someone was wearing a pirate hat, given they were in the middle of the ocean.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hey,’ she grinned, lazily. ‘Come here often?’ It was at about that point Beau noticed that all three of the newcomers were armed, and that there was a rifle barrel pointing at her chest. Oh. Hmm. That probably wasn’t good.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A tall figure bent down at Beau’s side. The big, soft ears kind of reminded her of a cow’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Beauregard,’ Caduceus said. ‘Can you tell me if you’re hurting anywhere?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I’m really tired,’ Beau murmured. Everything felt a bit of a world away. ‘My muscles are kinda sore.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘How far did you dive down to get him?’ The voice was coming from someone else, but Beau couldn’t tell who.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘He was sinking so fast.’ It wasn’t really an answer to the question that was asked, but it was the only answer she managed to put together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There were some more murmurings around her, but the words were too garbled for Beau to pick up on any of them. The next thing she realized, someone was fixing a mask around the back of her head. ‘Just breathe normally, alright?’ Beau gave a thumbs up. She didn’t know what was going on, but it seemed like someone was trying to help her. Caduceus put a large, fuzzy hand on her shoulder, and she felt magical energy surge through his fingers into her. Far more magical energy than she’d ever felt from anyone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The world came back, bit by bit, and Beau became more and more cognizant of the situation they were in. People with guns wasn’t exactly a good sign.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Fuck,’ she muttered, through the oxygen mask.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You with us?’ Beau turned to see Fjord sitting by her side, the bleeding on his head had stopped, but it was still a pretty terrifying sight.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah.’ Beau groaned. Her diving instructors would have killed her. Shit, she’d be better off handing in her certification straight away. Decompression sickness was no joke. ‘What’s with the coven?’ She indicated her head towards their three…well, captors, she now realized.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Ah, we are in the middle of negotiating that point,’ Fjord said, lightly. That was one way to put it. Yasha, Beau realized, was not carrying her rifle, and she didn’t seem to look particularly happy about that. ‘We were apparently encroaching on waters that we should not have been encroaching on, and…well, their warning shot was a little less of a warning shot. And, now we’ve been boarded.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Fucking great.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘The good news is, they were kind enough to let us make sure that the two of you weren’t going to die before we started…negotiations.’ Caduceus looked angry. At least, Beau was pretty sure it was anger. It was hard to tell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau wasn’t sure what was meant by “negotiations”, but she was pretty sure it was something that she wasn’t going to like. Not for the first time in her life, she was disappointed to be absolutely correct.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The crazy hot elf in the pirate hat, Beau learned, was Captain Avantika, and it didn’t take Beau all that long to find out that there was probably more emphasis on “crazy” than there was on “hot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thankfully, Beau was allowed to get out of her wetsuit, so as to conduct whatever business came next with a little dignity. While she got changed, Jester gave her a rundown on what had happened; how they had been fired upon, then boarded, and that Yasha had helped pull Beau and Fjord out of the water.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I think Fjord hit his head somewhere, ‘cos he was bleeding like <em>crazy</em>, but then Caduceus put his hand to Fjord’s shoulder, and he woke up like…straight away. I think he must be <em>really </em>magical. Then we realized that you were off on another <em>planet</em>, so they went and got the oxygen, but also we got boarded by<em> pirates</em>.’ As with most of the times Jester told her things, Beau was scarcely surer of what had happened than she had been in the first place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She half hoped that there would be some kind of clarification when these fabled “negotiations” started, but apparently the crew of the other ship would far preferring getting down to business.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘These are dangerous waters,’ Avantika commented, as they sat around one of the cramped tables in the galley. The ogre (Bouldergut, which was exactly the kind of name that Beau expected an ogre to have), had not lowered her rifle, but the older woman (Vera, which was exactly the kind of name that Beau expected a middle-aged woman to have), had traded her own rifle for a pair of spectacles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘A little more dangerous when you go around shooting at people for no reason,’ Beau shot back. She was in her “work” clothes now; a plain black t-shirt, and khaki trousers, though they were both damp with seawater.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘We have been fired upon indiscriminately before,’ Avantika told the group at large. ‘It was ah…our lookout’s unfortunate haste that led to your predicament.’ Beau didn’t buy that for a second. Nor, it seemed, did anyone else at the table. Yasha had a very protective grip around her own rifle, which they had been kind enough to give back to her. If she fired it, Beau was almost entirely certain that the pirate ship would scuttle them in a heartbeat. ‘In this instance, though, I believe that we may be of some use to each other.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau could not help but snort.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Am I correct in assuming that you are one of His chosen?’ Avantika asked. Her question was directed towards Fjord, who seemed appropriately non-plussed. At least Beau, who knew Fjord better than most others on board thought he looked non-plussed. To everyone else it probably looked like self-assuredness. ‘I sensed it as soon as I saw you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He recovered quickly. ‘I am,’ he said, in that smooth, charismatic voice of his. He was using the fake accent, which, more than anything else, told Beau where his head was at. ‘I was fortunate to be chosen by Him.’ Who “he” was, Beau had no fucking idea. Fjord didn’t seem to know either, but clearly understood that playing along was the best way to get them through this.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘And now you sail the Lucidian ocean, in search of His temple. In search of the cloven crystal.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Him” meaning Uk’otoa, Beau realized. Fjord seemed to realize it at exactly the same time. She had no idea what the cloven crystal was, though. Of all the research she had done, nothing had come up that mentioned those words. ‘It wasn’t my intention for us to get in anyone’s way,’ he said. ‘He is simply one who I learned of some years ago, and saw a mere glimpse of his power. I was curious to know more.’ That, at least, was the truth, Beau was pretty sure. Fjord hadn’t been entirely forthcoming about his reasons for wanting to come here, beyond knowing more about the entity that he had encountered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not that Beau had never been guilty of that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The meeting didn’t last much longer. There was still tension in the air as their new (forced) allies disembarked the ship and returned to their own (much larger) one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, I don’t trust them for a second.’ Caduceus put his hands on his hips. Beau bit her lip, half wanting to ask what had given it away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No, I don’t think I do either,’ Fjord said. He turned to Beau. ‘Are you alright? You were out of it for a bit there.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah.’ Beau grimaced.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Thanks for coming to get me,’ he said. ‘I think I must have banged my head when they fired.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No problem, man.’ Beau clapped a hand on his shoulder. ‘You’d do the same for me, right?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Of course,’ Fjord told her. ‘What are friends for?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They stayed anchored for most of the rest of the day. Orly seemed reasonably certain that the explosion near the boat hadn’t messed with any of their systems, but he wanted to be sure, and since Fjord very much wanted them all to stay afloat, he didn’t argue.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Since they didn’t move, neither did The Mist, and Fjord got the impression that even though Avantika and her lackeys had departed without fuss, they would fire again without too much care. They were going to have to be very, very careful on how they proceeded with this one.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Pssst.’ Fjord looked up at the sound. Someone trying very hard to be nonchalant. It was Jester, standing at his open door. ‘Can I come in?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Of course.’ Jester tiptoed in quietly, and shut the door behind her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hey,’ she said. Her voice was a soft whisper. ‘I just wanted to see if you were okay. Some pretty heavy stuff happened today.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord didn’t disagree. On the whole, though, he was pretty sure he wasn’t the only person that needed to be checked in on. After all, Fjord had technically not even been there for most of the <em>really</em> dramatic stuff. All he remembered was getting whacked in the head, and waking up, soaking wet on the deck of the <em>Squall-Eater</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You know what, though? I’ve got something that’ll cheer you up.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord didn’t want to mention that her mere presence was enough to cheer him up. She somehow managed to light up every room she stepped into, even when it was pitch black. ‘Yeah?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I bought this cute weasel!’ Jester gushed. She reached back behind her hood, and pulled out the squirming creature. The proclaimed weasel gave a noise of fright at the sight of Fjord, and curled into a ball in Jester’s hands. ‘His name is Sprinkle!’ She scratched the weasel on its belly, and Fjord couldn’t tell whether the creature was enjoying it or not. They could have been screeches of pleasure after all. Jester put Sprinkle back in her hood, and sat down on the bed next to Fjord.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord stared. ‘We got boarded by pirates today, and we’re on our way to the temple of an ancient sea snake that I may have accidentally pledged myself to, and you want to bring a weasel along?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jester looked utterly unconcerned. ‘I’m <em>pretty sure </em>he can swim.’ She frowned slightly. ‘Well, the guy I bought him from said he could swim.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘And where exactly did you buy him?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh, I met this guy with like…a cart on the way to Port Damali. He was selling all sorts of animals.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord was fairly certain than any animal bought from a random man with a cart was not going to be in the best shape. In fact, the poor thing probably couldn’t even swim. ‘Do you know what weasels eat, Jester?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh, well Sprinkle really likes donuts, and fries, and those little cherries that they put on top of drinks.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I thought you didn’t drink?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I don’t, I just like the cherries.’ Jester gave a sweetly innocent sort of smile, but Fjord knew better. He’d once seen Jester chop off a guy’s dick and shove it down his throat. She’d called it a Nicodranas Necktie. ‘Anyway,’ she continued, clearly wanting to avoid the topic of the nutritional health of her new pet weasel. ‘Beau was a little vague about why we were coming here.’ That was a lie. Fjord was pretty sure it was a lie. It was really fucking hard to tell with Jester sometimes. ‘Something about that thing that you guys found the last time you were in this part of the world.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Even though he was on the hunt for answers, Fjord had always tried very hard not to think about what had happened that day. How he had been swallowed in an endless expanse of inky dark water, how he had taken what he was so certain was going to be his last breath, and then…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I remember thinking I was going to die,’ he admitted. ‘And then you and Beau came, and you saved me, but…there was something dark inside of me.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jester gave a slight snicker.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No, not like that,’ he said patiently. ‘Like…whatever it was we found that day has been lying dormant inside of me. The only way to figure out what it is, to figure out how to get rid of it, or to…to understand it, is to go with these people, and find out what’s in that temple.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What if it’s like…something really gross, like an ugly monster with slimy tentacles, and hundreds of mouths that are all throwing up sea water?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I…had not considered that,’ Fjord admitted. ‘Let’s hope it’s nothing gross.’ He had to admit, Jester’s way of treating the matter did seem to cheer him up a little. Somehow, it was a little harder to be afraid with Jester sitting at his side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Thanks,’ he told her. ‘For checking in on me. I really appreciate it.’ He leaned over, and gave Jester a quick kiss on the cheek. There was half a second where Jester’s face seemed to warm under his touch, and he wondered if he should kiss her again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, there was an angry hiss, and a weasel burst out from Jester’s hood, and launched at him. ‘Aaaagh!’ Fjord fell sideways onto the floor, and immediately put his arms up to save his face from the brunt of the attacks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sprinkle, no!’ Jester pulled the angry weasel away, claws digging into Fjord’s forearms as she did. ‘Oh my god, Fjord I’m so sorry!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘That’s okay,’ Fjord lied. ‘I, ah…I was in his space.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I mean, next time you want to kiss me, let me know, and I’ll give him to Caduceus to look after. They get along really well for some reason.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord smiled. ‘I’ll keep that in mind,’ he said. The moment was lost, however, and Jester made her departure with a smile and a wave.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was with slightly less anxiety that Fjord took off his shirt and started getting ready for bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Beau stared out over the water.  It was strangely calming, even though she had technically kind of almost died down there today.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That hadn’t been the ocean, though. That had been the result of shitty people doing shitty things. The ocean was just…like, yeah, it’d kill you, but that was just nature. It didn’t give a shit about buried treasure, or gold coins, or ancient sea gods. It just…was.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau heard the footsteps coming up behind her, but she did not turn around. She was still too enamored by the sound of the ocean, and the taste of salt on her lips. ‘Can we talk?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha. Not unsurprising, but not disappointing either. ‘I suppose I should be thanking you,’ Beau said. ‘I don’t think anyone else is strong enough to have pulled me out of the water today.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Jester is.’ That was true. Jester was…surprisingly fucking strong. Maybe it was all those bodies that she had to haul around.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Uh huh. Was it Jester?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No.’ Yasha moved to stand next to Beau, and Beau was very much aware that they were in almost opposite positions to what they had been the previous night. ‘You wanted to talk. I…I have something I need to tell you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau didn’t say anything.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I felt guilty,’ Yasha blurted out, suddenly, surprising Beau. Not that she had spoken, but…well, neither of them had ever been particularly good about admitting how they felt about things. They both just sort of passive-aggressived it up until breaking point.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau snorted. ‘Why the fuck would <em>you</em> feel guilty about anything? I’m the one that fucked things up.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha didn’t answer. She was staring at the dark, rolling ocean, the waves lapping up against the side of the ship.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Come on, Yash. I—’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Because I almost saved him.’ There was no mistaking which “him” she was talking about, but Beau didn’t understand. Since the second that those bullets had entered Molly’s chest, there had been no saving him. Beau couldn’t ask what that meant. She couldn’t let herself…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What do you mean?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘There was a split second when I had a choice between pulling back him, or pulling back you, and I chose to pull back you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Another pause. Beau didn’t see how that was what made Yasha feel guilty. She had saved one of them, at least. Then, like a slap to the face, like a bullet to the chest, like an anchor in the heart, it hit her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She felt guilty because she had wanted to save Molly instead.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha didn’t say anything, and that, more than anything, was how Beau knew that it was true. ‘Oh.’ She hated how her voice cracked on that single syllable.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I don’t…’ Yasha started, and then stopped. ‘I can’t…’ She was crying, Beau realized then, the wet of her tears reflecting in the moonlight. ‘I’m sorry.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Don’t be,’ Beau somehow managed to choke out. ‘You’re being honest. After all this time, I think that’s something we need.’ Against her better judgment, she wrapped her arms around Yasha, and pulled the other woman in for a long, tight hug. <em>I’m sorry you’re stuck with me</em>, she wanted to say, but didn’t. ‘I think…you know, I think I’m gonna just go to bed.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She left before Yasha could stop her, the tables now well and truly turned.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It took a very long time for Beau to sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not surprising, given what she had just learned. That Yasha had loved Molly, more than she had loved Beau.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It shouldn’t have come as news. Not really. After all, Beau had never in her life been anyone’s first choice. Even her parents had brushed her off in favor of their infant son, the son that they hadn’t even bothered to tell her about. It made sense that Yasha had cared for Molly – cared for the man who she had already been inseparable from when Beau had first met her – more than she cared for Beau.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Sleep didn’t come. At around four a.m, Beau grabbed her journal and her pen, and everything else, and made her way to the galley. It was a little early for breakfast, but there was clattering around in the kitchen that told her people were starting to get ready to cook it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Things were still slowly coming together, another bit clicking into place as Beau cross-referenced a symbol from her own photos with the ones that Dairon had sent her. ‘<em>Gharon</em>. Levy. Hmm.’ She hadn’t thought that Primordials would anything as mundane as tax. Maybe it was in a more general sort of sense.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau yawned. She set her pen down. Now that her brain had calmed down a little bit, she might be able to manage an hour or so of sleep before the early risers came in for breakfast.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not even bothering to close her journal, she put her head down, and closed her eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Fjord stared at the ceiling for hours after Jester left, waiting for sleep to take him. When it finally did, it was late (or early, really), with the first rays of the morning sun just starting to peek over the horizon.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A strange heaviness was sitting in his chest; a weight that had nothing to do with what lay ahead, or whatever conversations had transpired. It felt more like an actual physical presence, pushing down on him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He closed his eyes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When he opened them, he was once more at the bottom of the Lucidian Ocean, a dark watery expanse pressing in around him.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A great, yellow orb appeared in front of him, as though it were an eye with a thin slit of an iris. Though he could not see anything, he could sense that there was an enormous body behind that single eye.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Watching,</em> the creature said, though the words did not come in any conventional form. It was as though he was hearing them in his mind, rather than with his ears.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I don’t understand.’ Though he was surely underwater, there was no distortion in his words, and when he opened his mouth, the water didn’t rush in. ‘Am I watching? Is someone watching me?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Potential</em>, the voice said, and this time Fjord sort of understood. The creature was saying that…that <em>he</em> had potential? He scoffed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In all of his life, no-one had ever told Fjord that he had had potential. He had gone from a shit foster home, to a shit job, to a shit career. The only thing that wasn’t shit was the brief forays into action and adventure that had come with being reasonably good friends with an assassin and an archaeologist. But no-one had ever told him he had <em>potential</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Reward. </em>That one was a little vaguer. Reward for what? For having potential?</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Consume</em>. Okay, now it was just getting weird. ‘Consume what?’ he asked. Then, an image appeared in his mind, of an island covered in lush jungle, a pyramid shaped temple, a strange yellow orb. <em>Was he supposed to consume the orb?</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Release.</em> The orb shuddered, and disappeared, before reappearing along with hundreds and hundreds of others just like it, and behind the orb…behind the orb was an enormous, terrifying…indescribable creature that seemed to have no centerpoint, no focus, just a mass of writhing, scaly tentacles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then he woke up.</p>
<p>Fjord staggered to his feet, his head spinning. Though the ship was not swaying, he felt like he was a brand-new sailor, overcome with queasiness that could only be settled by a large mug of ginger tea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He fell to his knees, and vomited. Once. Twice. Three times.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It certainly wasn’t the first time he had vomited, but this time seemed different. Instead of a disgusting pile of mess, there was just a puddle. Colorless. Formless. Fjord put a finger to his lips, and brought it up to his nose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then, to his lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was salt water.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Release</em>, said the voice in his head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Yasha was sure that there wouldn’t be anyone in the galley this early.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was surprised, then, to see a familiar lone figure sitting on one of the small tables near the end.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau was fast asleep, face stuck to the pages of her journal, and blue ink smeared across her cheek. On the whole, not surprising. It certainly wasn’t the first time that Yasha had found her like this. What was different was the pair of black-rimmed glasses that had half fallen off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An enormous rush of affection rose up in Yasha, and she hated that she might have hurt Beau.  It hadn’t been until well after Beau had gone to sleep, and Yasha had spent many minutes staring out at the ocean that she realized how Beau might have misinterpreted her words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, it was both a blessing and a curse to find her here this morning. At the very least, though, Yasha could start things off well. She took two bowls from the counter where the ship’s cook was already starting to ladle out breakfast, and made her way to that figure in the corner.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau jumped. Her eyes darted from the bowl in front of her, to the person sitting across from her. ‘Hey,’ she said, slowly. Yasha could tell almost immediately that the other woman was looking for an opening to escape.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Are these new?’ Yasha asked, gesturing towards the glasses that were now hanging off one ear. Beau blushed, and took them off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah,’ she said, her voice croaky with sleep. ‘For reading.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I wanted to say sorry,’ Yasha said, quickly, knowing that if she didn’t talk now, then the bad air was going to between them forever. ‘I…may have given you the wrong impression last night. About what happened.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stared at her. She swallowed. Yasha took it as an invitation to continue. ‘I don’t regret saving your life over his. It was a judgment call. He was closer, but he was also closer to death. I knew that if I saved you, you had a better chance of making it.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An incomprehensible look flashed over Beau’s eyes. ‘I don’t know if it being a judgment call makes it better, or worse.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The silence hung in the air, tense. Yasha was suddenly furious. A measured, tempered sort of fury. ‘I don’t know what to say, Beau. It’s starting to look like you want any excuse to blame someone else, because really, you blame yourself.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau didn’t say anything, but from the tears in her eyes, and the way that she avoided Yasha’s gaze, Yasha was sure that it was true.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Forcing people to try and hate you has never worked,’ Yasha continued. ‘Not with me, and not with anyone else.’ She paused. ‘You are not responsible for what happened, and there is not a single thing that you could do to make me hate you, because I l…because I care about you. A lot.’ Beau gave a slight scoff of disbelief, but she did, finally, take the bowl that Yasha had put in front of her, and started eating.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘There’s a lot I still want to talk about,’ Beau said, after half a dozen mouthfuls. ‘But…not at the moment. Not when we’re stuck together on a boat in the middle of the Lucidian Ocean, and we’ve got crazy pirates trying to make us do things, and…when this is all over, we can hash things out.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Of course,’ Yasha said. It was perhaps the wrong time to admit how much less interesting her life had been. How directionless she was. She ate, she slept, she worked…like the light had been snuffed out. ‘I…I think that is a good idea.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau finished her breakfast. ‘So this Avantika. What do you think?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I do not trust her,’ Yasha said, immediately. It seemed patently obvious, given that Avantika had fired upon them, and boarded them by force, and had all but blackmailed them into accompanying her to Urukayxl. They would be foolish to even consider trusting her. ‘I think we should be very, very careful.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Agreed,’ Beau said.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was the extent of their breakfast conversation. Her own appetite sated, Yasha made her way back up to her quarters, intending to perhaps get a couple more hours of sleep.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She almost tripped over the body in the hallway.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He was face down, and shirtless. Yasha didn’t even need to turn him over to see who it was; the mottled green skin was identification enough. ‘Fjord!’ She turned him over roughly, and put a hand to his chest. It was soaking wet, but she could feel the beat of his heart beneath her hand. ‘Fjord!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>His eyes snapped open. Yasha had never really paid attention to the color of Fjord’s eyes before – if anyone had asked, she probably would have said that they were brown. These eyes thought…these eyes were not his own. They were a bright, greenish yellow.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They locked onto Yasha’s. ‘<em>Release</em>,’ he said.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This chapter was a hard fucking slog, but here it is.</p>
<p>Please review if you are enjoying the story! Reviews are very much a motivation to keep writing.</p>
<p>Find me on tumblr at thefriendlymurderer.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Fallacies and Foresight (Part Three)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry guys, I was delayed by posting for Beauyasha week. Microsoft word tells me this chapter is 6,666 words.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XII – Fallacies and Foresight (Part Three)</p><p>Fjord groaned.</p><p> </p><p>He was lying somewhere very uncomfortable. Not that any bed on a ship was comfortable. From a reasonably early age, he had spent a lot of time on ships. As a young teen, he had worked as a deckhand, and helped move shipping containers on the docks, and all manner of other things. It helped somewhat that at twelve, he’d looked sixteen. When he <em>did</em> turn sixteen, his foster parents gladly signed the paperwork to allow for emancipation, and he had been on the water ever since.</p><p> </p><p>As a young shitkicker, he had always been given the worst bunk, and even as he worked his way up to captaincy, the comfort level never seemed to increase.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever he was lying on now, though, was hard, and cold. ‘Lie down,’ a soothing voice said, a warm hand on his shoulder. He hadn’t even realized he’d been trying to get up.</p><p> </p><p>‘What happened?’</p><p> </p><p>‘You got fucked up, dude,’ came a significantly less comforting voice. This one, at least, he recognized almost immediately as Beau.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord groaned again. He sat up, against the advice of the soothing voice, and opened his eyes. ‘Fucked up by what?’ He blinked, and realizes that he was surrounded by what felt like half the crew. Beau was there, of course, and Jester was right by his side, and judging by the large, furry hand, the soothing voice had been Caduceus.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yasha found you passed out in the hallway,’ Jester told him. ‘You were soaking wet, like you’d been in the ocean. She said you looked at her with yellow eyes, and were talking in a weird voice. It’s <em>super</em> fucked up.’</p><p> </p><p>Only a single part of the revelation seemed to strike home. The eye in the dream had been yellow, hadn’t it? Had his dream somehow…manifested in real life? No, that couldn’t have happened. That was impossible.</p><p> </p><p>‘I had a nightmare,’ he said, slowly. ‘Perhaps I was sleepwalking?’ He knew there was hesitation in his voice. Hell, he didn’t even think that he believed that he had been sleepwalking.</p><p> </p><p>‘Could it have been a trick of the light?’ Beau asked Yasha, who was standing well at the back of the group. Though Beau had never had the best luck in talking to people, she seemed to mean this as a genuine question, rather than a dig at Yasha’s perceptive skills.</p><p> </p><p>‘It could have been,’ Yasha admitted. ‘But I don’t think so. They were very bright.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well whatever it is, it’s gone now.’ Fjord wasn’t sure whether he believed that statement, but at the very least, he no longer felt like he had some strange entity crawling through him. His eyes did have some flecks of yellow in them, so maybe it had been that.</p><p> </p><p>In the galley, they were still serving breakfast. With Caduceus and Jester’s help, Fjord made his way down there, and ate a truly disgusting amount of bacon. It was a good thing that Orly had stocked up in anticipation of having Beau on board. That woman could put away a lot of bacon. Caduceus went to get his own breakfast of fresh fruits and vegetables, but Jester stayed at his side, picking at the bacon.</p><p> </p><p>‘Are you sure you’re okay, Fjord?’ she asked. She sounded very worried, but Fjord tried not to read too much into it. Jester had a lot of love in her heart for a lot of people, even though she also had a lot of stabbing in her heart.</p><p> </p><p>‘Just a little tired,’ Fjord admitted. ‘Even before my nightmare, I didn’t sleep very well.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Orly said we won’t be there for a few more hours,’ Jester pointed out. It was the first that Fjord had heard that they had even started off again. Last he’d heard, they had been anchored. He hadn’t even noticed that they were moving. ‘Maybe you should get some more sleep.’</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a bad idea. He certainly wanted to be on the top of his game for whatever it was that came next. Avantika had already fired on them once; she would surely betray them all at the drop of a hat.</p><p> </p><p>That said, though, if he went back to sleep, who was to say the same thing wouldn’t happen again?</p><p> </p><p>Jester seemed to sense his hesitation. ‘Do you want me to watch you while you sleep?’ she asked. ‘I mean like…not in a creepy way or anything, just to try and wake you up if you start sleepwalking again.’</p><p> </p><p>It was strange. Jester had been the first person in Fjord’s life to take him at face value, to see through the shitty veneer that he had built up over the years, and treat him just the same.</p><p> </p><p>‘I would really like that,’ he told her, with the utmost sincerity. Together they finished off the very large plate of bacon, and Fjord returned to his quarters. Jester stopped only briefly to hand an exasperated Sprinkle off to Caduceus. Fjord couldn’t help but notice that the weasel seemed to calm down considerably once the firbolg was holding him.</p><p> </p><p>As they walked, Jester kept a calm hand on the small of Fjord’s back; for an assassin, she was a surprisingly good healer. There was a commonality in the two things, like sides of the same coin. Using the resources at your disposal to heal, rather than harm.</p><p> </p><p>No matter how many times he had done it, after pulling the night shift as deck crew, it felt strange going to bed in the morning. It didn’t help that his head was still lightly throbbing from the explosion the previous day.</p><p> </p><p>In Fjord’s quarters, someone had cleaned up the vomit. Clearly in his haze, he had missed a few things.</p><p> </p><p>Jester turned away as he got changed out of the boxers that had been soaked through with sweat. He found himself half-hoping that she would turn around while was still pulling on a new pair, but sadly, she did not. She did, however, look mildly disappointed when she saw that he had put on a shirt, which was something. It was something so silly, but he’d always been kind of self-conscious of his body, and the way he hadn’t really filled out the way that other half-orcs did, so to have someone very clearly appreciate the muscles that he did have was…well, it was nice. Maybe he should take Beau up on that offer of working out more.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you want me to tuck you in?’ Jester asked, as Fjord climbed back underneath the covers. She sounded serious, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that said she wasn’t.</p><p> </p><p>‘I think I’ll be fine,’ Fjord assured her. ‘Do you…’ He hesitated. ‘You don’t have to sit on that uncomfortable bench.’ He gestured towards the bed beside him. ‘I mean, if you want. You don’t have to.’</p><p> </p><p>Jester gave a shy sort of giggle that was very different the exuberance she normally put on, but climbed into the bed next to him. She didn’t get underneath the covers.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord was very vaguely aware of the kiss to the forehead that she gave right before he drifted back to sleep, and he could not help but smile.</p><p>…</p><p> </p><p>They arrived at Urukayxl later that day. After breakfast, Beau had climbed up to the crow’s nest to keep an eye out on things. She watched from there as the island grew closer and closer, made up almost entirely of dense, twisted jungle. She could just about see what looked like a rocky outcropping in the center.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, that could have been an oddly shaped mountain. Beau had been an archaeologist for long enough to know that the most auspicious looking things were often red herrings. Untold history could be found in fragments of pottery just as much, if not more than in unblemished ruins. Things in a perfect state told what didn’t happen more than they told what did.</p><p> </p><p>As they took anchor, Fjord called up to her. He looked a damn sight better than he had this morning. The paleness was gone, and he looked like he’d probably gotten at least a couple of hours of uninterrupted rest. ‘Are you planning on joining us?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I guess so.’ Beau eschewed the ladder entirely, and jumped straight down to the upper deck. It wasn’t a long drop, but she paid for it with a jarring pain that went straight through her knees.</p><p> </p><p>Her bag had been packed ready to go since yesterday, and she had to force herself not to run to get it, a reasonably sized spring in her step.</p><p> </p><p>They rowed two dinghies to shore; Beau, Fjord and Caduceus in one, and Jester and Yasha in the other. Somehow, Jester and Yasha made it to shore a good five minutes ahead of them.</p><p> </p><p>Avantika was there, and she was accompanied by a dark-skinned, bald-headed man who looked like he almost definitely had one of those survival shows on the Discovery Channel. He was wearing a button-down blue shirt, and was carrying a daypack on his back.</p><p> </p><p>Jamedi Cosko was his name, and Beau was immediately certain of the fact that she wasn’t going to remember it. Avantika told them that he was a guide, but he gave off a really weird vibe that Beau did not like for one second. The fact that Caduceus was eying him with barely disguised contempt was a point in the firbolg’s favor.</p><p> </p><p>Really, she was pretty sure they didn’t need a guide. Between her, and Yasha, and Fjord, they actually had a decent amount of experience at trudging through weird temples, but then, Avantika didn’t know that, and even if she did, it wasn’t as though the other woman was going to trust them.</p><p> </p><p>It would be easy enough, she was sure, to take whatever Jumanji Costco said with a grain of salt.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t a big island, but it was big enough that they had a long trek to the temple that lay at the center of it. Certainly not the worst trek that Beau had ever been on. She had the sudden, horrifying memory of the near-week long trek she’d taken to the place where she had found the Beacon. This felt like a cakewalk in comparison.</p><p> </p><p>At least, that was what she first thought.</p><p> </p><p>It was hot.</p><p> </p><p>Not unexpected, given where they were, and the time of year that it was. It seemed a far cry from almost dying of hypothermia in the middle of the Dunrock Mountains mere weeks ago.</p><p> </p><p>The heat wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst of it was the bugs that kept flying into her face, and landing on her bare skin, and trying to bite her. The weird thing was, this wasn’t even the first jungle island temple that Beau had been to, but the last one hadn’t had fucking mosquitos the size of rats.</p><p> </p><p>They walked for the better part of the day, stopping only for a brief standing lunch before moving on. The undercurrent of uneasiness that she’d been feeling for the past couple of hours had morphed into a full-blown nausea. That on its own wasn’t too unusual. It was the sort of feeling she usually got when she didn’t drink enough water on a night out. Her neck and her arms and her legs were all starting to ache, though, and the sweat that covered her body seemed to be coming in faster and thicker than anyone else’s.</p><p> </p><p>They walked for what felt like hours, and Beau felt as though she didn’t take in anything. The world around her was blurry, and each stretch of jungle seemed identical to the last.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey there, Miss Beauregard,’ a voice said, and Beau felt a hand clap on her shoulder. She jumped. ‘Are you feeling okay?’</p><p> </p><p>‘’m fine,’ Beau muttered. It wasn’t exactly a lie. Not really. She was always okay, after all. At least, that’s what she had to tell people. They shouldn’t have to worry about her problems.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was vaguely aware of a waterskin being pushed into her hands (how long had she been this thirsty?) and a cool hand against her forehead (how long had she been burning up?). ‘Let me try something,’ the voice said again, and Beau felt a pulse of magic flow into her. For half a second, it felt like the nausea might be dissipating. Then, she rolled over, and threw up.</p><p> </p><p>‘Let’s take a breather.’ It was a different voice – Fjord’s voice, Beau was pretty sure. Which meant that the other one must have been Caduceus. It had sounded masculine, at least. Strong, capable hands helped her get up, and sit back down on what felt like a tree stump.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey Beau.’ Another voice. This one, at least, Beau was pretty sure was Jester’s. That accent was unmistakable. ‘I’m pretty good with poisons, and I don’t think this is a poison. We think you might have been bitten by something, and Caduceus is making some tea that he says will probably help.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Cool,’ Beau said. Then, she felt a cool hand – far cooler than the hand that had been on her forehead – slip into her own. It was a nice feeling. ‘Hey Jes?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah?’</p><p> </p><p>‘We should hang out more.’</p><p> </p><p>‘We really should,’ Jester agreed. ‘Like…I help you with stuff all the time, and you’ve never helped me with any of my things once.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t bother to point out that Jester was an assassin. That the sorts of things she wanted help with where the sort of things that really weren’t in Beau’s skillset. That might have been because in the moment, her brain couldn’t think that hard. ‘Hey Beau?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you still love Yasha?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau gave a laugh, which turned into a cough. A little bit of bile came up, but she swallowed it back down. ‘I never stopped loving her.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau hadn’t realized that there was a hand on her shoulder until it squeezed tightly. Though she couldn’t tell whose hand it was, it felt warm and safe. That should have been a clue, but she was not yet in the right mind to process it.</p><p> </p><p>A mug was pressed into her hands, and it seemed like the most logical thing in the world to drink it. The tea was citrusy and fruity and herbaceous all at once. Beau had never much been one for drinking tea, but this one was nice.</p><p> </p><p>Bit by bit, the world came back. The fever seemed to subside, and everything came into a clearer sort of focus. Jester was sitting by her side, and Yasha was standing behind her, and she couldn’t remember why that was important. ‘Wow,’ she said. ‘That’s some good fucking tea.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I, ah, gave it a little help,’ Caduceus told her. He took the cup, and hooked it back onto a carabiner at the top of his hiking pole. ‘You should probably follow it up with some water.’ They rested for a while, and Beau drank a lot of water, enough that she took three trips behind a tree to relieve herself before they set off again.</p><p> </p><p>It was a little embarrassing. No-one else had had such an adverse reaction, even though the bugs were attacking everyone. Beau was sure she’d wake up tomorrow with angry red spots all over her body, from where they’d gone for her blood.</p><p> </p><p>It was mid-afternoon before they got going again, still, by Jamedi’s reckoning, a couple of hours away from the temple. There had once been warring tribes of snake-men and lizard-people, he told them. Now, though, they walked through long-dead ruins of houses, and markets, and temples…If she had been alone, Beau was sure she would have stopped to look at everything, but as it was, they rushed through so that they could make camp before sunset.</p><p> </p><p>With perhaps half an hour to spare, they arrived at the outskirts of the enormous, pyramid-shaped temple, its apex reaching high into the sky.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was sorely tempted to go in there and have a look while the rest of them were setting up tents, but given that there could have been all sorts of traps, in addition to the fact that she really, really didn’t wanted to get lost in the dark, it would have to wait until morning.</p><p> </p><p>It got dark surprisingly quickly, given the part of the world they were in. It probably didn’t help that they were deep in the jungle, the dark canopies creeping over them to block the light. Though it wasn’t all that cold, the decision to light a fire was unanimous; anything to ward off predators that were sure to be stalking the long-forgotten ruins late at night.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha came and sat down beside her.</p><p> </p><p>‘I have something for you,’ Yasha said.</p><p> </p><p>Beau almost laughed. It was just like them to be doing this right before going into a crazy serpent temple. ‘It’s not a flower, is it, because I’ll tell you, that jungle <em>fucked</em> me up.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha <em>did</em> laugh. Then, she handed over her pistol. Oh. <em>That</em> kind of something.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha had been through many different pistols since the first one she had lent to Beau, all those years ago on the way to Molaesmyr. This one was a little heavier than that one had been, and looked like it was loaded with hollow-point rounds. That alone was kind of worrying. A shot from this pistol was designed to kill. Not that she hadn’t killed before.</p><p> </p><p>Beau had the strangest feeling that the pistol had only recently been loaded this way. The message in that was clear. Yasha trusted the people that they were with about as much as Beau did, which was not very much at all. She clipped the holster to her belt. ‘Thanks,’ she said, and meant it.</p><p> </p><p>‘I do not want you getting hurt,’ Yasha said, evenly, in the sort of way where the meaning was not too difficult to discern. ‘After all this time, I would not be able to bear it.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Uh,’ Beau said. ‘Likewise.’ Internally, she winced. Yasha always had a way of turning her into an incoherent mess (in more ways than one). ‘You know, I’ve got the weirdest feeling we’re gonna see some really fucked up shit in there.’ She gestured towards the temple.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha followed her gaze, and held it for a few moments. Then, it returned, passed over Beau, and landed on Fjord, sitting by Jester on the opposite side of the fire. They were deep in conversation, and didn’t seem to notice. ‘Me too,’ she said.</p><p> </p><p>Though neither of them said anything to prompt it, they ended up taking the first watch together, sitting side-by-side on a fallen log. ‘I miss this,’ Beau said, in a low sort of whisper. Yasha heard her.</p><p> </p><p>She intertwined her fingers in Beau’s, and they sat there in silence until their watch was done.</p><p>…</p><p>The next morning, they got an early start.</p><p> </p><p>None of them knew exactly what it was they were going to find in the temple. It could have been long dead, with nothing but rusted shut traps to mark their path. Or, there could have been some slumbering ancient beast, just waiting for a meal delicious enough to wake up for.</p><p> </p><p>Hopefully, though, it wouldn’t come to that.</p><p> </p><p>Jamedi entered the temple first, and Beau had half a mind to veto that point. The last thing they needed to do, though, was to start something just as they were about to go into this place. It was going to be potentially dangerous enough already. Beau was pretty sure that they would have to be very much on their guard, going into the temple of the Eldritch snake god that was potentially inhabiting Fjord’s dreams.</p><p> </p><p>Beau entered last. She took more time than was probably wise admiring the pillars that flanked the doorway, taking photos for later perusal.</p><p> </p><p>Inside the temple was just as impressive, just as magnificent as the outside. It was clearly very old, but had been very well preserved, given its location. No-one would ever think to knock it down to make way for a new apartment complex.</p><p> </p><p>The three walls that were not taken up by the temple entrance were covered in large murals. One of an enormous serpent that Beau assumed was Uk’otoa, one of a large worm, and the last, a purple bird. It was the last one that drew Beau’s attention.</p><p> </p><p>The bird was enormous, its fiery purple wings spread wide, its eyes a shining onyx black. It was almost like she had seen it before. She <em>hadn’t</em> seen it before, she was sure. Something like this; so immense, so iconic, she was sure she would remember. There was no memory there, and yet it evoked some strange, familiar feeling. Like maybe she’d seen it out of the corner of her eye, or in a dream, or in the fast-flipped pages of a book.</p><p> </p><p>‘Does this thing look familiar to anyone?’ Beau asked. ‘The big fucking bird?’ She knew it was a phoenix, of course, but “big fucking bird” had a much nicer ring to it. If Caleb were here, he would have known. He’d always had a much deeper knowledge of the arcane stuff than she did. If it was related to Uk’otoa, then it was potentially a being cut from the same cloth. Beau made a mental note to do some reading when she got back to the library.</p><p> </p><p>No-one else had seen the bird before, which wasn’t entirely surprising. Unfamiliar, too, was the other mural, of the enormous worm plowing through the earth. It was strange that she hadn’t read about them. If they were related, then she was sure that they would have been mentioned in the same books that she had read about Uk’otoa in. When they stopped for the night, she would have to check the notes on her phone.</p><p> </p><p>Beau had her GoPro strapped to her head, and was taking a running video footage of their expedition. Even still, her phone was out, and she was taking photos of everything she saw. She was very aware that Avantika, at the very least, was losing patience. Or maybe everyone was losing patience, and Avantika was the only one that disdained her enough to actually verbalize it.</p><p> </p><p>‘There will be time for you to take photos on the way back, yes?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau was just about ready to make a snappy retort, when she caught the look on Fjord’s face. Something that was along the lines of “please don’t antagonize her, I want us to get out of this alive.” Beau relented.</p><p> </p><p>Disgruntledly, she put her phone away, taking great care to shoot a very rude gesture in Avantika’s direct the moment her back was turned. It didn’t really help, but it made her feel better. Hopefully whatever they found in the heart of the temple would swallow Avantika whole.</p><p> </p><p>They continued on into the heart of the temple. On the far wall, there was an enormous relief of what looked like Zehir, the Cloaked Serpent. It wasn’t a pretty sight. He took the form of a man with three pairs of arms, and a serpentine head. It was interesting. Zehir had created Uk’otoa, but…</p><p> </p><p>‘You know,’ she said, to the person closest to her, which happened to be Jester. ‘I don’t think this is a temple to Uk’otoa at all. I think it’s a temple to Zehir.’</p><p> </p><p>‘He’s the Betrayer God, right?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Right.’ Beau nodded. ‘God of poisons, assassins and darkness. He believes in the sowing of chaos.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Assassins and chaos,’ Jester said, thoughtfully. ‘Sounds like he was made for me.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau opened her mouth to argue. Zehir was a pretty well…<em>evil</em> god. That much was inherent even in the name “Betrayer God.” Jester had killed a lot of people, but for some reason, Beau had a lot of trouble thinking of her as evil. For the most part, the people she killed kinda had it coming. ‘Didn’t you have that other guy?’ Beau asked. She was sure that Jester had mentioned something about the God she worshipped before. ‘The Trucker?’ That couldn’t be right.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, Beau,’ Jester gave a bright, tinkly sort of laugh. ‘His name is the Traveler, and he’s the best.’ Jester told Beau about the Traveler as they walked. Since Jamedi and Avantika were going first, they could be the ones to look out for traps.</p><p> </p><p>Ahead of them, Avantika stopped. There was another relief on the wall, similar to the ones near the temple entrance. This was clearly Uk’otoa, surrounded by a crowd of prostrate, kneeling followers. Beau almost made a comment throwing Avantika’s words back at her, but decided against it.</p><p> </p><p>‘There is a door ahead,’ Jamedi told them. ‘I cannot open it. There may be some riddle.’</p><p> </p><p><em>Perfect</em>. That wasn’t a sarcastic thought at all. Beau actually really kind of liked riddles. Not that anyone here knew that.</p><p> </p><p>Wait. No. Yasha knew. Yasha had watched her do the riddles in the Saturday paper every weekend for over a year. Somehow, though, Beau was pretty sure that the riddles in the <em>Xhorhasian Times </em>weren’t quite as intense as the kind you found in an ancient tomb to a Betrayer God.</p><p> </p><p>Beau made a silent gesture to Yasha, and indicated her head in Avantika’s direction. Yasha nodded. “Keep an eye on her,” was the unspoken request.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fjord, wanna come look at a weird door?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I’d love to,’ Fjord said, crisply. They moved up past the rest of the group. Beau lamented, briefly, that Caleb and Nott weren’t here. They were both really good with this sort of thing. Hopefully, wherever they were, they were both doing okay. Too many things had been going on, and Beau had forgotten to check in on them.</p><p> </p><p>The door was another very impressive mural, this time inlaid with hundreds of gemstones, depicting Zehir, and the same three creatures that had been in the entrance murals. The snake, the work, and the bird. The bird’s eyes were a dark onyx, and the worm’s eyes were ivory, and Uk’otoa’s eyes were a yellow gemstone that might have been citrine.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord put out a hand, and touched the yellow stone. There was half a second where his whole body seemed to seize up, and a sickly green light passed through him. Beau pushed him away from the door, and he stumbled but didn’t fall. Eyes cast downwards, hands on knees, he was breathing heavily.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Protect</em>,’ he said. Beau’s hand stopped inches from Fjord’s back.</p><p> </p><p>‘What did you say?’</p><p> </p><p>Fjord straightened. No, that wasn’t true, because this wasn’t Fjord at all. His eyes were no longer the warm brown that Beau recognized. They had washed over with a bright, serpentine yellow. ‘<em>Protect</em>,' he repeated, in a voice that was not his own. He threw her backwards into the wall, an agonizing stab of pain bursting through her.</p><p> </p><p>He had drawn his gun, and was aiming it in her direction, and Beau was vaguely aware of other people rushing in to disarm him, but before any of them could do anything, she felt that voice in her head once more.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Now, this won’t do, will it?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Beau put a hand up, but before she could do anything, a burst of pulsating yet invisible energy seemed to burst from her palm, out to where Not!Fjord was stalking towards her. He fell backwards, unmoving.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Beau ran to him, put a hand to his chest. He was breathing, but was definitely not conscious. Whatever had taken over him had either left, or had retreated into him. She needed Jester. Or Caduceus. Someone that had a little magic in them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Before she could even manage to call one of them over, there was a figure at her side, kneeling down and putting a large furry pink hand to Fjord’s shoulder. Beau watched in semi-awe as the soft green light seemed to permeate his form, to draw the darkness out from inside of him.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord groaned. His eyes blinked open, brown once more. ‘What the hells happened?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau couldn’t help but stare at Caduceus, ignoring Fjord’s question. Finally, it was Jester that appeased him. ‘You were acting really weird,’ she said. It didn’t quite capture the magnitude of it.</p><p> </p><p>‘It was like something was possessing you,’ Yasha provided, helpfully. She had a dark look on her face that Beau did not know the meaning of, and very much did not like. Still, her mind was still caught up in the other thing.</p><p> </p><p>‘Caduceus,’ she said. The firbolg turned to look at her. ‘How much magic do you have exactly?’ Caduceus looked nonplussed by the question.</p><p> </p><p>‘What do you mean? I have the magic that I have.’</p><p> </p><p>That was the thing. Jester could give people minor healing, and Caleb had a few tricks up his sleeve, and Beau had met other people here and there that could do very small things. So far, though. Caduceus’s magic had been far more powerful than any of that.</p><p> </p><p>Jester seemed to catch Beau’s drift first. ‘No, she’s right. You healed Fjord when he hit his head, and Beau when she had decompression problems, and when she got bitten, and removed whatever was <em>just</em> happening with Fjord. That’s <em>way</em> more magic than I can do.’</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus blinked slowly. He still looked non-plussed. ‘Oh,’ he said, finally. ‘Well, I’ve always had this much magic. I didn’t know it was anything but normal.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well however normal or abnormal it is,’ Fjord interjected. ‘I very much appreciate it.’ He sat up, weakly.</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t think it’s gone entirely,’ Caduceus admitted. He took a long look in Avantika’s direction. She and Jamedi were both keeping a measured distance, though Avantika’s gaze had not left Fjord in some time. Beau shifted around to the side, so that she was blocking the line of sight. She didn’t trust Avantika for a hot fucking second.</p><p> </p><p>‘What do you mean?’ Fjord asked, nervously. ‘Do you think it’s something to do with being <em>here</em>?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I wouldn’t rule it out.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t like that, and from the looks of things, Fjord liked it even less. If they had known the cause of it beyond the nebulous “being near the temple,” it would have been different, but as it was…Beau was starting to get the sinking feeling that the last time that they had gone looking for Uk’otoa, they had awoken something they shouldn’t have. ‘Caduceus, do you mind giving me and Fjord a moment?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course,’ the firbolg said, placidly. He didn’t move. Beau gave him a pointed look. ‘Oh! Alone. Right.’ He wandered off to talk to Jester.</p><p> </p><p>‘Something on your mind?’ Fjord asked, lightly.</p><p> </p><p>‘Just having some regrets that are maybe a few years too late.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You’re not the only one,’ he agreed. ‘I came here because I wanted answers, but—’ He gestured his head in Avantika’s direction. ‘—I have the strangest feeling that this is going to end very badly.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t disagree.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord stretched out his muscles. Clearly, being possessed twice in two days had caused some issues. ‘I’m going to, ah…go back over here with the others.’ He went back to stand with Caduceus and Yasha. A moment later, Jester wandered up.</p><p> </p><p>If there had been any magic on the door, it was inert now. Beau read through the transcription on it, very much aware of Jester standing at her side.</p><p> </p><p>‘What is it, Jes?’ Beau asked, when it became clear that Jester wasn’t reading the transcription, but was staring very intently at Beau.</p><p> </p><p>‘Caduceus wasn’t the only one doing weird magic.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau waited for the crux of Jester’s argument, but it didn’t seem to come. ‘Who else was doing weird magic? Was it Avantika? I knew we couldn’t trust her.’ Avantika, standing five feet away, cleared her throat.</p><p> </p><p>‘It was you, Beau,’ Jester said, in a stage whisper. ‘You put out your hand, and you pushed him back without touching him.’ Jester clearly did not get the unspoken message of not talking about weird magic in front of their new friends.</p><p> </p><p>‘He just fell backwards,’ Beau lied, brusquely.  ‘Come on, Jes, you know I don’t have any magic.’ Jester gave her a reproachful sort of look, but didn’t say anything. Beau decided it was best not to mention the weird voice that was living inside her head. Save that one for the boat ride to Marquet.</p><p> </p><p>She turned her attention back to the door.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord had the right idea, Beau realized. The gems in the door were connected to an opening mechanism in some way. The one that Fjord had touched belonged to Uk’otoa. But, this wasn’t a temple to Uk’otoa at all. Beau scanned the door until she found the <em>other</em> serpent. Zehir. Instead of emeralds, he had dark rubies for eyes. She pushed the stones.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p> </p><p>‘He’s a God of chaos, right?’ Jester whispered. ‘Maybe you should smash them.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t think it’s that kind of chaos,’ Beau murmured. If she had Nott on the line, they would have been able to see the mechanisms that led to the door. She went over the transcription again. It wasn’t Primordial, but it did still have some vestiges of it.</p><p> </p><p>Shit.</p><p> </p><p>It was the stupidest godsdamned thing. That she was trying to deconstruct Primordial as a language, but couldn’t even speak the one fucking language that had evolved from it.</p><p> </p><p>‘You speak Abyssal, right?’ Beau asked Jester, who looked surprised.</p><p> </p><p>‘Nooo, I speak Infernal. They’re <em>totally </em>different languages.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Great,’ Beau muttered. If it had been Primordial, she would have been fine. Though there was a lot of information on Uk’otoa that involved the Primordial, she didn’t think it actually <em>was </em>a Primordial. The Primordials, funnily enough, had come before even the Gods. The first creatures that had wandered Exandria. The Gods had fought against them, during the Founding. Uk’otoa, from everything that they had researched, had come long after the world was ashen skies and burning lava and utter chaos.</p><p> </p><p>More likely, the language had survived on through the Cloaked Serpent, who had been there during the defeat of the Primordials. Or maybe, the language just sounded way cooler than what Leviathan Serpents normally spoke.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The only creatures that still natively spoke Primordial were the Elementals, and they hadn’t been seen in thousands of years.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That said, there were a few languages that had branched off from Primordial. Abyssal was one of them (though there were hardly any that spoke that, either. At least not natively).</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Yasha had wandered up to see what was happening. Beau couldn’t help but let her brow unfurrow just a little bit.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>‘You don’t’ happen to speak Abyssal, do you?’ Beau asked, not particularly expecting a positive answer. When she did get one, she was surprised.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>‘Yes, I do,’ Yasha said. Beau stared at her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>‘You’re shitting me.’</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>‘When have I ever lied to you?’</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It was a fair point. Of all the things that had happened between them, they had, at the very least, always been honest. Maybe if they’d both lied a little more, things would be different. Yasha could have said that she had been too late to save Molly, and that pulling Beau out of there had been the only way to save them both, or Beau could have said “I’m fine with that,” instead of storming off in a rage and refusing to let Yasha even try to explain what had happened.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or maybe they’d be in an even more awkward situation.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Yasha, though…</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Yasha, who had been a paratrooper, who went artefact hunting because it was something to do, rather than because she had a huge love of history, who didn’t even bother looking at half the stuff they collected. <em>Yasha</em> knew a language that Beau didn’t?</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Actually, that was unfair. Yasha also knew Xhorhasian, and Beau didn’t. Plus, it wasn’t as though Yasha was in any way unintelligent. She could name a thousand different species of flower, whereas Beau barely knew ten, and she could field-dress any wound you threw at her. She had spent a lot of time in a lot of different places with a lot of different people. It certainly wasn’t too out of the ordinary for her to know Abyssal, even if it was an almost dead language.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t as though there were any fiends left to speak it, after all.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>‘Can you read this?’ Beau gestured towards the door. Mildly startled at the question, Yasha moved forward to read the inscription.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>‘This is a very old dialect,’ she said, finally. ‘Spoken by the Yuan-Ti.’ The Yuan-Ti. The snake people whose ruins surrounded the temple. ‘It speaks of Zehir, the Cloaked Serpent, and his brethren, the King of the Lucidian.’</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>That could only mean Uk’otoa, Beau thought. Whoever the other two beings depicted in the mural were, they were not connected to Zehir. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Yasha, can you press down on Uk’otoa’s eyes, while I do Zehir’s?’ Yasha nodded. ‘Okay, count of three. One, two…Three.’ On three, they both pressed down simultaneously, and the door made an ominous rumbling sound before it began to open.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Beau took a step back. 'After you,' she told Yasha.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They kept moving, everyone keeping a very close eye on Fjord. As long as he didn’t touch anything, hopefully he wouldn’t get possessed again. The mere fact that possession was even<em> possible</em> was worrying enough. Not to mention whatever the fuck was going on in Beau’s own head. That, at least, was hopefully a little less pressing of a problem.</p><p> </p><p>They came across a few more riddles, and another trapped door. This time, Fjord kept well back while the rest of them attended to things. He looked shaken, and Beau didn’t blame him. The door led down into an enormous chamber with a large pool in the center of it. The water in the pool was green, and brackish, and Beau really, really hoped that they didn’t have to dive into the thing.</p><p> </p><p>There were three runed pillars surrounding the pool, each marked with an assortment of runes and symbols that Beau was itching to look at. She had to stop herself from charging forward past the rest of the group.</p><p> </p><p>They made their way into the chamber cautiously. The skeleton of a long-dead creature lay next to the pool, a longbow at its side. Beau knelt next to it. ‘Not human,’ she said, to the group at large.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well that doesn’t mean much,’ Avantika said. She wasn’t wrong. In their group alone, they had a half-orc, a tiefling, an elf, a firbolg, a…whatever Jamedi was, and Yasha, who had always claimed to be human, but Beau was never quite sure. In fact, Beau suddenly realized that she was probably the only human there.</p><p> </p><p>Beau glared at her, nonetheless. ‘Looks Yuan-ti,’ she said. ‘Snake-person. Looks like it’s been dead a while, but you know, I don’t carry a carbon dating kit around with me.’</p><p> </p><p>Avantika opened her mouth to respond, but before she could, the ground had started to shake. Beau jumped to her feet, hastening to draw Yasha’s pistol from its holster. She knew what earthquakes sounded like. This wasn’t an earthquake. The stagnant green pool rippled.</p><p> </p><p>This was something coming up from the water.</p><p> </p><p><em>Well that’s not good</em>. Beau couldn’t tell whether the voice was her own, or the voice of whatever had taken up residence there.</p><p> </p><p>The beast that emerged from the pool was enormous; far bigger than anything Beau had ever seen before in her life, and she’d almost been trampled by elephants once, after getting too close on an expedition in Marquet. Beau’s eyes were fixed on it, but she could hear the sound of gunfire around her.</p><p> </p><p>It had five heads.</p><p> </p><p>Five, long, twisting necks, each ending in a snarling, growling mouth.</p><p> </p><p>It had seen them, and it was angry.</p><p> </p><p>Beau raised the pistol.</p><p> </p><p>If they were gonna go down, they were gonna go down fighting.</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hey guys, remember how good that Hydra fight went in canon? A canon where they had Nott, Caleb, and also magic? This is gonna be fine.</p><p>(This story is now my longest story, CR or otherwise, and there is still so long to go!)</p><p>Find me at thefriendlymurderer.tumblr.com, and please leave a review!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Fallacies and Foresight (Part Four)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XIII – Fallacies and Foresight (Part Four)</p><p>Yasha was already firing before the creature had finished rising from the pool. She did not need to know what it was, what it wanted, to know that it was dangerous. Any creature with five heads that lived in a ruined temple was not good news.</p><p> </p><p>Her finger had been on the trigger guard since they’d first stepped into the temple, waiting for Avantika or Jamedi Cosko to say something or do something beyond what they were expected to do. Yasha didn’t trust either of them as far as she could throw them, which was pretty far.</p><p> </p><p>The second the thunderous ripples had started to spread, she’d moved her finger to the trigger proper, and the moment it had pierced the surface, she squeezed it.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone else, with much less experience in fights like this, took at least another ten seconds to respond. Though the room was not a small one, with the enormous creature, and the sound of gunfire coming from all side, it felt much, much smaller.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was cut off from the rest of them by the creature. She’d been crouching down by the pool when it had started to rise, and had darted off to the left, in the opposite direction to everyone else. Yasha could just barely see her between the writhing heads, but was sure that Beau was shooting along with the rest of them.</p><p> </p><p>‘Beau!’ Yasha called out. She half-thought that the creature might hear the shout, and turn in her direction, but she had no such luck. At the moment, it was lashing out indiscriminately, biting and swiping at whatever it could see.</p><p> </p><p>‘What?’ Beau called back. She dived out of the way as a head lashed towards her, and just barely managed to miss its fang-like teeth.</p><p> </p><p>‘Can you get over here?’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha half expected a sarcastic response, or even a grunt of affirmation. What she got instead was a tense, almost afraid, ‘I don’t know!’</p><p> </p><p>Of all the things they’d been through together, they had never faced anything like this.</p><p> </p><p>‘What the fuck is this thing?’ Fjord yelled. One of the heads came down, aiming for his torso, and he just barely managed to kick it away before it ripped him in half. He rolled out of the way into the hallway.</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s a hydra!’ Beau called out, from the opposite side of the chamber. She was pressed into a corner, trying to avoid the heads that were swiping in her direction.</p><p> </p><p>‘What does that mean?’</p><p> </p><p>‘If you cut off one of its heads, it’s gonna grow two more!’ Beau yelled. She dived out of the way of a bite aimed at her leg, and it caught her on the shoulder instead. No sooner than it had bitten down, it pulled away, taking a chunk of flesh with it. ‘Fuck!’ Yasha had to physically stop herself from charging over there.</p><p> </p><p>‘How do we stop that from happening?’ Fjord was tucked into the hallway beside Jester, occasionally ducking out to take potshots at the creature. Yasha could see the dilemma. Fewer heads meant that they were less likely to get taken out by one. But if they regrew…</p><p> </p><p>‘Fire!’</p><p> </p><p>The only thing that Yasha had even close to fire was a couple of grenades that she would have preferred not to use. Not only were they difficult to come by, it was generally frowned upon to be throwing grenades around in an underground ruin, hundreds or thousands of years old. If her aim was off by even a few inches, she could bring the whole thing down on them.</p><p> </p><p>‘I think I have something that will help!’ Jester said. She pulled a gas cannister for a camping stove from her backpack. ‘Man, if only Nott were here. She would have loved this.’ Before Yasha could even think to ask what that meant, there was a short, hot burst of fire from the cannister. It did seem very in character for Jester to be carrying around something that could be turned into a flamethrower.</p><p> </p><p>‘We need to get those heads off,’ Yasha said to the person closest to her. She looked, and realized that it was Caduceus. He, like the rest, was a little goggle-eyed at their predicament. Too late, Yasha realized that this was probably the scariest situation any of them had been in, save maybe Beau. Fjord spent most of his time on ships, and Jester’s work generally meant that she was in and out of places very quickly. But this…this was where Yasha thrived.</p><p> </p><p>‘I think I can help you with that,’ Caduceus said. He set a steely gaze upon the creature – the hydra – and held out a hand. Blood dripped from a wound on his palm.</p><p> </p><p>His hand glowed with a soft green light, shooting out at the hydra. The magic did not seem to do any noticeable damage, but the hydra snarled, and its movements became sluggish, as though a great weight was pressing down on it.</p><p> </p><p>Now, all she needed to do was cut off a head. Easier said than done.</p><p> </p><p>Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something. A trembling figure holding a machete.</p><p> </p><p>Jamedi was shaking far too much to use the weapon and Yasha all but ripped it from his grasp before charging forward towards the beast. She was vaguely aware of the scream that he gave as the creature snapped at him, a scream that was very quickly cut short.</p><p> </p><p>The world narrowed to a single pinpoint. All that mattered was cutting off this creature’s heads. All that mattered was Jester being able to hit them with the makeshift flamethrower. One head dived straight for Yasha, and though it managed to lock around the side of her Kevlar vest, she used the momentum of its strike to swing back around onto its neck and start hacking.</p><p> </p><p>The hydra did not like that.</p><p> </p><p>It did not like it at all.</p><p> </p><p>It thrashed and turned, trying to bite at Yasha with the remaining four heads. It was much harder to dodge up here, with her legs around the hydra’s neck, and even as Yasha hacked at the sinewy flesh once, twice, three times, she took the same number of bites from its snarling teeth.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, though, the head fell, and Yasha dived off the creature, not wanting to be there when Jester struck. Even still, she felt the hot flash of flame above her, and a pained scream from the hydra. It sounded monstrous. Otherworldly, almost. But if it was screaming, that was good news.</p><p> </p><p>Too late, though, she felt the creature’s heads bearing down on her, and Yasha knew she didn’t have time to roll out of the way.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>Beau watched, transfixed, as Yasha leapt onto the hydra’s back, slashing away with the machete. To call it a back was a bit of a stretch. The thing seemed like it was made up of nothing but necks, and an insubstantial sort of writhing torso.</p><p> </p><p>In that moment, time seemed to slow. It was unlike anything Beau had ever experienced before. She was certain that she was moving at normal speed, and the rest of the world seemed to have stopped around her. Even the hydra was moving in slow motion, as though swimming through mud.</p><p> </p><p>Her hand, sticky and wet with her own blood, scrambled for purchase on the broken ground. Shards of mosaic had fallen from the smashed walls, and Beau winced as a shard of stone pierced her palm. She wrenched her hand upwards, and pulled a tiny sliver of onyx from the wound there. It was nothing compared to the bite on her shoulder, but somehow, the wound pulsed with significance.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha sliced off one of the creature’s heads, and they both fell to the ground. The rest of the heads were bearing down on her.</p><p> </p><p><em>You know what to do</em>, said the voice that wasn’t her own. <em>Who the fuck </em>are<em> you</em>? That voice <em>was</em> her own, but the words seemed to fall on deaf ears.</p><p> </p><p>She knew what to do, though she didn’t know how, or why she was doing it. She put out her hand, and directed it up at the hydra.</p><p> </p><p>At first, she thought that nothing was happening, but then she saw a dark sphere, growing quickly, form near the hydra’s head.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha was still on the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Beau scrambled to her feet, and ran forward. She didn’t know how big the spell was going to be, whether or not anyone would get caught up in it, but she knew that it would be very, very bad if Yasha got caught in there.</p><p> </p><p>With very little regard for anything other than Yasha’s wellbeing, Beau ran in there. By the time she reached Yasha – dazed, but conscious – the sphere had grown to about three feet in diameter, completely enveloping two of the remaining heads, and threatening a third. At Yasha’s side, Beau could feel the pull of gravity, trying to suck her towards the sphere. She pressed her feet into the ground as she grabbed Yasha’s arm, and hoisted her up.</p><p> </p><p>‘Come on!’ Beau yelled, and the words seemed to pull Yasha to wakefulness. She let Beau drag her to her feet, and they both scrambled back.</p><p> </p><p>‘Beau!’ Yasha screamed, and Beau didn’t have time to ask what was wrong before she felt an enormous whack against her shoulder, and she was dragged backwards by the hydra. Backwards into the sphere.</p><p> </p><p>Everything was dark.</p><p> </p><p>Beau was still conscious – she was moving, and breathing, and hurting – but she could not see or hear anything, and an overwhelming crushing force seemed to be pressing in on her. She screamed, but no sound seemed to come out. Or maybe it did, and she just couldn’t hear it.</p><p> </p><p>Her head pounded. Ribs shattered. Blood came from her eyes, and her ears, and her nose. Just as easily as it had started, though, the dark sphere vanished, and the unbearable light of the underground chamber came back into view. Beau’s hands, slick with blood, tried to grip the pistol, but it kept sliding out.</p><p> </p><p>She laid there, on her back, and waited for the hydra to finish her.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing happened. The hydra was still there, still lashing out at some unseen enemy, but any sound that might have accompanied it was still muted.</p><p> </p><p>What happened next seemed to happen in slow motion. The hydra split in two, blood, and guts, and viscera spewing from it, and Yasha dropped to the ground, still holding a filthy machete.</p><p> </p><p>Beau grinned. ‘Dope,’ she muttered to herself, before passing out.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>An enormous sphere of darkness had enveloped the hydra. It was beyond anything that Yasha had ever seen before, and she was pretty sure it had come from Beau. Beau, who had been ripped from her grasp by the hydra, and sucked into the sphere. There was a lot of yelling going on, and no-one could quite figure out what was happening, or what to do. Yasha was just about to run into the sphere, when it disappeared, dumping the hydra and Beau to the ground.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha did not even think. She ran forward and swung the machete.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha sliced the creature down the middle, breathing heavily all the while. The death of the hydra (was that what Beau had called it?) seemed hardly more important than the fact that Yasha needed to get to Beau. Immediately.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever that strange sphere of darkness had been, it had seemed to have done as much damage as the hydra had. The stone floor had been shattered by both gravity, and the hydra’s enormous body.  Jester and Fjord had been pinned in the hallway, Jester with blood dripping from a large bite wound on her torso, and bruises from the sphere. Fjord looked like someone had shoved his face into a door. Avantika was standing next to them, but she was quite possibly the last person that Yasha cared about right now.</p><p> </p><p>‘No, no, no,’ she muttered to herself, as she ran towards the still body next to the hydra. After everything that had happened, she couldn’t lose Beau now. Not like this. Not after all the fucking things that they’d been through to make their way back to each other.</p><p> </p><p>‘Caduceus!’ she cried out. Caduceus had been seeing to Fjord, and to Jester, and ran over at the sound of Yasha’s voice.</p><p> </p><p>‘I think I can probably give you a hand here,’ he rumbled, and put a hand to Beau’s chest. It was an amazing thing, watching the way the bones of her chest seemed to knit themselves back together, how cuts seemed to seal up, and bruises fade. Beau gasped. She sat up in Yasha’s arms, but dropped back almost immediately.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck,’ she muttered.</p><p> </p><p>‘Good job,’ Avantika said, putting a hand on her hip. ‘That was really something.’ Beau gave a barely concealed snort, but Avantika didn’t seem to notice. Yasha got it. She had barely seen Avantika do anything. She was looking at the hydra, rather than at them. No, Yasha realized. She wasn’t looking at the hydra.</p><p> </p><p>She was looking at the pool.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>Fjord’s nose was bleeding.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know whether it had been from the hydra, and its many moving heads, or from the strange sphere of darkness that had consumed it. Everything had sort of happened at once. Having a creature of that size, of that lethality, protect this temple…Fjord was starting to get the impression that Uk’otoa was kind of a dick.</p><p> </p><p>Perhaps that shouldn’t have been his first clue.</p><p> </p><p>Avantika was looking at the disgusting pool that the hydra had emerged from. Then, without warning, she ran for it, and dived in. At first, Fjord didn’t even think to stop her. Then he remembered that whatever it was they might find here…</p><p> </p><p>Jester seemed to be thinking along the same lines. They shared a glance. ‘Go,’ Jester urged him. ‘Whatever it is that’s down there, we don’t want <em>her</em> getting it.’ Fjord nodded. He made a running dive at the pool, hoping like the hells that it was more than a foot deep.</p><p> </p><p>He plunged into the murky, noxious water, and had a sudden, horrifying memory of all the time foster siblings had shoved his head into a toilet, or pushed him into a pool. He was lucky he hadn’t come out of any of that with an overwhelming fear. He pushed the memories back, and swum after the dark figure that was already ten feet ahead of him. It was about half a moment later that he wondered just how terrible of a mistake he had made. He had already almost drowned once this week, and this time he wouldn’t even have the luxury of being unconscious for it.</p><p> </p><p>In amongst the deep, shadowy dark, there was the smallest patch of light. Fjord swum towards it. He could feel the last vestiges of air leaving his lungs as he breached the surface of the water.</p><p> </p><p>He collapsed to the ground, lungs burning, and spitting up water.</p><p> </p><p>The room was smaller than the one that they had come from, and yet somehow twice as sinister. Several dozen or so candles seemed to flicker with light. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered how long they had been lit. Avantika stood in front of one of them, her dark shadow playing on the wall. There were inscriptions there, but Fjord was still catching his breath.</p><p> </p><p>‘Impressive,’ Avantika commented. Fjord couldn’t tell whether she was lying or not. Given that the only impressive thing he’d done was more reckless than impressive, he was pretty sure that she was. ‘But being impressive is not nearly enough to hold His favor.’</p><p> </p><p>She was standing with a clenched fist aloft. Even from his position on the ground, Fjord could see the blood dripping down her fingers. She had been injured in the fight, but judging by the bloodied dagger in her other hand, this particular wound was self-inflicted. Exactly why she would cut her palm open, he didn’t know.</p><p> </p><p>Then, he realized what she was standing on.</p><p> </p><p>The engraving in the floor was shaped like an eye. The same eye that Fjord kept seeing in his dreams, that was carved everywhere through this temple. Avantika’s blood was dripping into it, swirling through it, as though by magic.</p><p> </p><p>‘I am his chosen,’ she said, breathlessly. ‘The first seal is broken.’ There was a mad sort of look in her eyes. She didn’t even attempt to stop the blood that was now rapidly leaving her body. It took another moment for Fjord to realize that the blood was falling faster than it should have. The eye was literally sucking her dry. Then, as quickly as it had started, it stopped. The eye on the ground was shining red. It seemed to glow, and suck the blood up into it. Fjord hadn’t seen anything like it ever before, but he had seen enough to know that it probably wasn’t Good News.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>Release</em>,’ Avantika whispered. Her eyes glowed yellow. Then, she crumpled to the ground, dead.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord stared at her, stared at the blood-filled eye. ‘That’s going to be a hard pass,’ he said, more to himself than to anyone else, but he was sure that the creature, Uk’otoa, wherever he was, could hear Fjord.</p><p> </p><p>As though in response to his statement, the walls began to shake. The seal had been broken, and thus the temple had fulfilled its purpose. Or something like that.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord had the strangest feeling that it would be a very, very good idea to leave this place as quickly as possible.</p><p> </p><p>Ignoring Avantika's broken body, he ran for the pool that he had just barely come from, and dived into it. His body was still aching and bleeding from the fight with the hydra, but Fjord pushed past all of that, to swim faster than he had ever swum before.</p><p> </p><p>The world above was a faint circle of flickering light, that grew bigger and bigger as he got closer. Just as he thought that his breath was about to run out, he pierced the surface of the water. Strong arms grabbed his, and pulled him out of the water onto the ground.</p><p> </p><p>A fuzzy, blue figure loomed over him. The most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. Jester was like an angel, albeit an angel with horns and a tail.</p><p> </p><p>'I think he needs CPR,' came her voice, and it struck Fjord as odd; he was still conscious, after all. He was spluttering, and breathing and all of that. When he felt a pair of warm, strawberry-smelling lips press against his, they were making far less effort than they should have to breathe air into his lungs.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord did the only logical thing he could think of in the moment. He kissed back. The world seemed to form around them as they kissed, and there was a moment of brightness in his heart. In light of everything else horrible that had happened today, at least this had happened.</p><p> </p><p>The ground rumbled again. ‘You two gonna fuck right here, or can we get out of here?'</p><p> </p><p>Well, Beau was clearly alright.</p><p> </p><p>'Yeah, we should probably run,’ Jester said, guiltily. She helped Fjord to his feet, and put an arm around him as they staggered back up the stairs, past the eviscerated body of the hydra.</p><p> </p><p>'What about Avantika?' Caduceus asked. He seemed curious, rather than concerned.</p><p> </p><p>'Dead,’ Fjord told him. He had just enough time to wonder if that would end very, very badly for them, given that there was an entire ship worth of Avantika’s compatriots waiting off the coast of the island. That was something that they would have to deal with.</p><p> </p><p>The ground rumbled again, and Fjord did not have time to think on the matter. They ran back up through the temple, all traps thankfully now dormant. It would have been something to have survived a fight with a hydra, only to get possessed by a magic door again. Fjord was getting quite sick of the “possession” thing, especially given that so far, it had only happened while he was near Urukayxl. Hopefully it was not a problem that would affect him across all the ocean; he would not make a very successful ship captain if he couldn’t be out on the water.</p><p> </p><p>They camped at the edge of the jungle. Beaten, bruised and exhausted next to the now collapsed ruins of the temple.</p><p> </p><p>No-one particularly felt like doing a debrief of what had happened down there, though Fjord knew that they were probably all questioning why they had actually come in the first place. He was sort of questioning that himself.</p><p> </p><p>What they’d found out, apart from the fact that Uk’otoa was a dick, was that pirates were also dicks. On the whole, not a huge revelation. But, he conceded, if they hadn’t been attacked, he was sure the situation in the temple would have gone much, much differently. After all, Avantika had wanted to free Uk’otoa. Fjord, on the other hand…</p><p> </p><p>Well, he didn’t quite know exactly what he wanted. Uk’otoa hadn’t exactly given him anything, so he had absolutely no incentive to free the monster.</p><p> </p><p>The main thing that he wanted was answers. Answers as to why it was his head that Uk’otoa had decided to shack up in, exactly what the eldritch abomination was, and what it wanted. Of a couple of those questions, he had a reasonably good idea. What he needed to do now was figure out a way to keep this fucker out of his head.</p><p> </p><p>For that, he found Caduceus.</p><p> </p><p>The firbolg was sitting by the fire, getting it ready to boil water on. Fjord wasn’t sure what kind of tea was best for the immediate aftermath of the “almost got killed by a snake monster” situation.</p><p> </p><p>‘Could we talk?’ Fjord asked. Caduceus looked at him almost knowingly. As though he had expected Fjord to come to him about this problem, but hadn’t wanted to push matters.</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course,’ Caduceus said, in that rumbly sort of voice of his.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m…worried,’ Fjord admitted. It was a strangely difficult thing to admit. ‘I don’t think that Uk’otoa has quite finished with me. In fact, I’m fairly sure he very much wants me to free him.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you <em>want</em> to free him?’ Caduceus asked. It wasn’t the question that Fjord had been expecting.</p><p> </p><p>‘Not particularly, no. Why, what would you have done if I did?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, I think that problem might have solved itself,’ Caduceus said. It was just vague enough of an answer that Fjord couldn’t figure out whether he was being threatened.</p><p> </p><p>He decided to change tack, just slightly. ‘Your magic, that comes from your God, yes?’</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus made a noise of assent. ‘The Wildmother,’ he said. ‘The goddess of nature, and of the sea.’</p><p> </p><p>Fjord gave a light chuckle. He knew that Caduceus had mentioned the Wildmother before, but it was only now that it really sort of sunk in. ‘You know, my ship – the ship I captain when I’m not…out doing crazy shit like this – it’s called the <em>Wildmother’s Grace</em>. I don’t know why I even came up with the name. It’s weird.’</p><p> </p><p>Caduceus smiled. He took the kettle from the fire, and took some dried leaves from a jar by his feet. ‘If you ask me,’ he said, ‘It’s not that weird at all.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>One last chapter in this arc, and then I am considering taking a (brief?) hiatus to more fully plot out how the rest of the story is going to go, and maybe post some other stuff in the meantime. I love this story a lot, but it's bloody hard to write at times.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Fallacies and Foresight (Part Five)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XIV - Fallacies and Foresight (Part Five)</p><p>Yasha did not sleep.</p><p> </p><p>Though they had escaped the temple, and even escaped the threat of Avantika and Jamedi, there were still a hundred other things that could hurt them, out here in this deadly jungle in the Swavain Islands. They had all already almost died more times than Yasha would have liked, and none more so than Beau. Except maybe Fjord.</p><p> </p><p>Beau had not yet gone to bed; she was across the way with Fjord and Jester, discussing something in low, but serious voices. The energy did not seem urgent, but Yasha kept a steady gaze on them nonetheless, ready to get up if it seemed like something she needed to intervene on.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you want some tea?’ Caduceus asked. He was sitting about six feet from Yasha, and until he’d spoken, she’d thought he was dozing off. ‘I have some that will keep you awake if you’d like.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha got the sudden distinct impression that Caduceus was paying far more attention to what was going on than anyone realized.</p><p> </p><p>‘What are they talking about?’ Yasha asked, indicating her head towards the other three.</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, nothing too important. Just what they’re going to do next.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You don’t think that’s important?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh, I think it’s very important, but whatever they decide, there are much greater things at play.’ The firbolg didn’t seem particularly inclined to explain what he meant beyond that, but he made Yasha a cup of tea, nonetheless.</p><p> </p><p>It was nice.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually, the trio dispersed, and to Yasha’s surprise, Beau wandered over to sit next to her. It was even more surprising when Beau didn’t even seem to hesitate before resting her head against Yasha’s shoulder. Yasha tried not to think about all the times she’d done that, years ago.  Maybe it was time for the “when this was all over” conversation that Beau had wanted to have. Strangely, though, Beau didn’t say anything. She just let her head rest there, and after a moment or two, Yasha shifted slightly, so that she could lean her head down too. It was a good thing she was sitting up against a tree-trunk.</p><p> </p><p>Finally, Beau said something, though it wasn’t anything close to what Yasha had expected her to say. ‘So, strangely enough, there was a general sort of consensus that maybe it’s a bad idea to be out on the water at the moment.’ Yasha raised an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>‘Are they worried about more pirates?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Pirates, sea monsters, sunburn…all of that, I guess. Anyway, we’re gonna skip Marquet for now, and head back to port. It’s way quicker to fly there anyway.’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha frowned. It was quicker to fly to Marquet, but in most cases, flying anywhere from Xhorhas was very difficult. She would probably have to fly east to Vasselheim, and then connect to Marquet from there. Even that was very problematic. After all, she did not think that <em>Issylran Air </em>would take very kindly to an assault rifle in checked luggage. She would have to make sure to take enough gold that she could buy some temporary equipment. At least flying to Port Damali it was easy enough to charter a plane.</p><p> </p><p>‘You interested in coming?’ Beau asked, and Yasha had to think for a moment. She had never even really considered a world where she <em>didn’t</em> come. Beau and Jester on their own was…well, Yasha would have preferred to be there.</p><p> </p><p>‘Do you want me to come?’</p><p> </p><p>There was a long, stretched, silence. ‘Yasha, I would bring you to the ends of Exandria with me if you’d let it happen.’</p><p> </p><p>‘That would be a very expensive trip,’ Yasha said, before she could stop herself. Beau laughed.</p><p> </p><p>‘Probably,’ Beau admitted. She sounded like she was very far away. Yasha rested her hand on Beau’s thigh, and before she could ask what was wrong, Beau was talking again. ‘Did you see what happened in there?’ she asked, in a low voice. ‘What I did?’</p><p> </p><p>She was referring, Yasha knew, to the sphere of darkness. Yasha looked over, and saw that Beau had her hands out, was examining them from every which angle. They didn’t look any different than normal, save some light bruising, but then, even that was pretty normal. Even on a day when they weren’t in a jungle in the middle of the Swavain Islands, Beau did punch a lot of things. They were small hands. Smaller than anyone would have thought, from the power of her punch.</p><p> </p><p>‘You saved me, is what you did,’ Yasha said, in an even voice. ‘Whatever else is happening, that is not your fault.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t <em>know</em> what’s happening,’ Beau said. She seemed to take it as a personal insult. Yasha remembered the early days of their relationship, and how frustrated Beau always seemed to get when there was a bit of knowledge, or a bit of history, or a bit of…something that she didn’t know. She liked being able to control situations, and when she didn’t have all the information…</p><p> </p><p>‘We will find out.’ Yasha’s voice was resolute. She knew that she was hardly any more helpful than a blade of grass at the research side of things, but at the very least, she could protect Beau, could be by her side no matter what.</p><p> </p><p>‘There’s…’ Beau swallowed. ‘I think there’s something in my head,’ she said. ‘I’ve been hearing a voice that’s not mine, and I think whoever – whatever – it is, it’s causing this.’</p><p> </p><p>Without meaning to, Yasha tightened her grip on Beau’s thigh. She had a decent amount of experience of hearing voices that didn’t belong to her, of people trying to control her, of telling her what to do. It was not a pleasant experience, no matter how much they claimed to be helping you.</p><p> </p><p>It was such an abstract, incorporeal thing to be dealing with. Most of Yasha’s problems, she could solve by hurting them. Pulling a trigger, or throwing an incendiary device, or…something. Internal problems were much harder to deal with.</p><p> </p><p>‘We will find out,’ she said again. Very slowly, very deliberately, she kissed the top of Beau’s cheek, just near her hairline. She both saw and felt Beau smile. Wide, but still a little bit sad. ‘It’s been a long day. You should get some sleep.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ Beau stood, and stretched out her whole body. She bent over to touch her toes with very little effort. ‘Gods, I’m so fucking sore. First thing I’m gonna do when I get home, is take a long fucking bath.’</p><p> </p><p>She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then seemed to decide against it. ‘G’night, Yasha,’ she said.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha smiled. ‘Good night,’ she said.</p><p>…</p><p>The return trek through the jungle was a much less harrowing experience than the trip there had been. Beau managed to avoid becoming a tasty snack for blood-thirsty bugs, and did not make any accidental, feverish confessions.</p><p> </p><p>She had almost forgotten about the rest of Avantika’s crew.</p><p> </p><p>They were waiting on the shoreline, armed to the teeth.</p><p> </p><p>There was Vera, and Bouldergut, and all the other ones that Beau had forgotten the name of. They had clearly been waiting, and since none of them had bothered to move stealthily, the pirates had had plenty of advance notice.</p><p> </p><p>‘Where is Captain Avantika?’ The ogre’s voice was barely more than a growl, and yet there was untold threat behind it.</p><p> </p><p>‘Dead,’ Fjord said, warily. As predicted, there was an immediately standoff. Beau had barely cleared her holster when she realized there were half a dozen barrels pointed in their direction. ‘She killed herself trying to free an insane leviathan God.’ His explanation hardly seemed to help matters, and even though Beau could see Yasha edge her finger towards the trigger, she knew they were outnumbered.</p><p> </p><p>‘Excuse me,’ Caduceus said, lightly. A couple of heads turned towards him, including Fjord’s. ‘You may want to pay less attention to us, and more attention towards your ship.’ He gestured to where their ship was anchored.  Beau could have sworn she saw a flash of soft pink and green light emanating from his hand. Still, they didn’t turn.</p><p> </p><p>In the distance, the water seemed to rise. Beau wasn’t sure what she was seeing at first; then she realized that it was a tidal wave, albeit a very localized tidal wave. In fact, the only ship it seemed to be affecting was the one that had been Avantika’s.</p><p> </p><p>At the horrifying sound of water crashing against a ship, they finally turned. Another thirty seconds after that, all of the pirates had been disarmed. Yasha had moved through them like a tornado, so fast that it seemed like they didn’t even put up a struggle.</p><p> </p><p>Beau shot a hole in each of the other dinghies as they left. She was sure the other group would be able to figure out a way to return to their (potentially scuttled) ship, but for now, it was not their problem.</p><p> </p><p>‘Should have thought about that before you <em>fucked</em> with us!’ Jester yelled after them, as they rowed back towards the Squall-Eater.</p><p> </p><p>All in all, it could have gone worse.</p><p> </p><p>Everyone was still alive. Well. Everyone important was still alive. Avantika had known what she was getting into, and Beau had barely even known Jamedi.</p><p> </p><p>So, she counted it as a win.</p><p> </p><p>They were far enough away from the mainland that Beau had zero cell reception, and in her rush to get to Port Damali, Beau had forgotten to pack the satellite phone.</p><p> </p><p>She wasn’t too worried. Nott and Caleb were generally pretty good at looking after themselves. Or, at least, if they got into trouble, they usually managed to get themselves out of it. It wasn’t as though they were going anywhere dangerous while Beau was gone. Mostly, it meant that she couldn’t get them to look something up for her, while she remembered.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, the first thing Beau did when they got back aboard the ship was go to her cabin. She very much resisted the temptation to invite Yasha to come there with her; it would have been nice, but they were all really fucking tired, and Beau had the strangest feeling that if Yasha came to her quarters then not a lot of sleeping would have happened.</p><p> </p><p>Not that she was expecting shenanigans, but it had been so long since she’d shared a bed with Yasha, that she knew it would take her at least a couple of hours to settle down properly. It was hard to tell whether Yasha was upset by that or not, but even she looked like she was on the verge of collapse, having stayed up most of the previous night.</p><p> </p><p>In any case, there was something Beau needed to do. Figure out what the fuck was going on inside her head.</p><p> </p><p>She tried to think about when it had started. Long before they’d gone out on the water, even if this was the first time she’d done any magic. The first time anything weird had happened in her head had been up in the Dunrock Mountains, and the only thing she’d come across in the Dunrock Mountains was—</p><p> </p><p><em>Finally figured it out, have you</em>, said that voice. That voice that wasn’t hers.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck off,’ she muttered. The only thing she’d come across in the Dunrock Mountains was the Luxon Beacon. The symbols of the body of the Lord of Light.</p><p> </p><p>Did she have the fucking <em>Luxon</em> in her head?</p><p> </p><p>The voice, suspiciously enough, was quiet. The fact that it had apparently been eavesdropping on her innermost thoughts was not exactly comforting. There had definitely been some salacious dreams that she didn’t want anyone else to know about.</p><p> </p><p>But if it had been inside her head…</p><p> </p><p>Beau rifled through her pack, and found her journal. She knew from Caleb, that the few spells he knew, he’d learned from books. There was a leather-bound spellbook he kept with him, with those few spells painstakingly transcribed in arcane runes and sigils.</p><p> </p><p>Though she had written a lot in her journal these past few weeks, it was fuller than it should have been. It took several minutes of flipping through it before she found the pages at the back.</p><p> </p><p>She didn’t remember writing these pages in her book.</p><p> </p><p>For one thing, they were written in Undercommon. Beau’s Undercommon wasn’t bad, but she could recognize that this was an old, <em>old</em> dialect. One that hadn’t been around for centuries, at least. Some of the words, she didn’t even know.</p><p> </p><p>They looked like spells. “Looked like” being the operative term, because for all that Beau had spent a great deal of her life in the library, her actual arcane knowledge was minimal. She knew about the <em>history</em> of magic, but spellcraft itself was a much greater mystery.</p><p> </p><p>But it was her handwriting. Or at least, close enough to it that it had probably been written by her hand. More damning was the fact that she had now cast two spells, neither of them mere sleight of hand tricks. Wherever this magic had come from (and Beau had a growing suspicion), it was not weak magic.</p><p> </p><p>What she needed was the library.</p><p> </p><p>Actually, no, scratch that. What she needed was Caleb. Caleb’s magic was nothing to scoff at. She had once seen him throw a ball of roiling fire at a group of pirates. He’d only been able to do it once, of course, and the pirates had immediately started shooting, but it was the principal of the thing. If nothing else, he could probably tell her what book to read, but there was a chance that he might recognize what kind of magic it was.</p><p> </p><p>Beau resisted the urge to rip out the pages. She would need them, after all, to show Caleb. There was another thought, a little deeper in the back of her mind. The fact that even though she hated having the magic, it had saved her, had saved Yasha, had definitely done some damage to the hydra.</p><p> </p><p><em>I can show you some more, if you’d like</em>. Beau snapped the book shut.</p><p> </p><p>Whatever this was, she wanted no part of it.</p><p>…</p><p>The trip back to Port Damali was surprisingly uneventful.</p><p> </p><p>The first two days, they were all on guard, with at least two people up in the crow’s nest at any hour of the day or night, and no small number of others watching from the bow and the stern.</p><p> </p><p>Nothing happened.</p><p> </p><p>It was weirdly anticlimactic.</p><p> </p><p>Still. Beau wasn’t going to complain. She tried to keep herself busy, mostly so she wasn’t alone with the voice in her head. Whatever <em>it</em> was, it was keeping quiet, somehow making her doubt that she’d ever heard it in the first place.</p><p> </p><p>Beau avoided the last few pages of her journal.</p><p> </p><p>Instead, she went through the photos and the video that she had taken of the temple. The lighting wasn’t the best, and she wished that she’d been able to take more photos, but as it was, it was still a lot to go through. There was Uk’otoa, and the Worm, and the Phoenix. The more she thought about it, the more she figured that the worm was Quajath, the enormous entity rumored to be imprisoned deep beneath Eiselcross. The Phoenix, she still had no idea.</p><p> </p><p>It was a weird pattern. Uk’otoa, imprisoned beneath the ocean, and Quajath, imprisoned under Eiselcross…what was the phoenix? Was it imprisoned somewhere, too?</p><p> </p><p>Beau couldn’t shake the feeling that she had seen the Phoenix before, whether in a dream, or somewhere else entirely. The notes in her journal were no help. That was something that she definitely <em>would</em> need the library for. At least, that was what she thought, until she remembered that Yasha spoke Abyssal.</p><p> </p><p>It took a long time to find Yasha, and eventually, Beau realized that she was up in the crow’s nest with Caduceus. The two of them, judging by the snippet that Beau overheard as she vaulted the railing, were having a riveting conversation about plants.</p><p> </p><p>Beau tried not to judge. After all, she found conversations about old bones just as interesting. ‘Hey, Yash. You have a few minutes?’</p><p> </p><p>Yasha raised her eyebrows in surprised. ‘I mean, I do not want to leave Caduceus to watch on his own.’</p><p> </p><p>‘You can send Fjord up if you’d like,’ Caduceus said, mildly. ‘I think there are a few things we need to discuss.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t want to ask. There was a weird sort of relationship there that she wasn’t even going to begin to try and understand.</p><p> </p><p>But Fjord was a big boy. He seemed to know what he was doing. At least, Beau hoped that he did.</p><p> </p><p>‘We’ll send him up,’ was all she said.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord was in the cockpit of the ship with Orly, going over the navigational charts. It was only at that point that Beau realized the two had been specifically tailoring their course to avoid the pirate-heavy parts of the water.</p><p> </p><p>‘Caduceus wants to have a chat,’ Beau said, gesturing up to the crow’s nest. Fjord gave her a look of surprise. ‘What have you two been gossiping about anyway?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I asked him to teach me about his God,’ Fjord admitted. He sounded a little bit abashed. ‘I…It sounded like a much nicer sort of thing to follow than a sea snake.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, no kidding. Anyway, have fun.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau took Yasha back to her quarters, ignoring the thumbs up that Jester gave her from the stern of the ship.</p><p> </p><p>‘I was taking a look at those photos I took in the temple,’ Beau explained, as she shut the door. ‘Do you reckon you could help me with some of the Abyssal?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course,’ Yasha agreed.</p><p> </p><p>Beau went straight to the image of the Phoenix, and the inscriptions surrounding it. There wasn’t much in the way of text, but enough that she might be able to get a better idea of what it actually was.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha took the phone from Beau’s hand. She spent several minutes reading over the symbols, and made a few notes of her own on a piece of scrap paper. Beau imagined that it was the same old dialect that had been on the door.</p><p> </p><p>‘It is called the Twilight Phoenix,’ Yasha explained, finally. ‘It says that the worshipers of the Twilight Phoenix were wiped out by the Julous Dominion many hundred of years ago, and the Twilight Phoenix remains trapped. It does not say where.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau frowned. It did sound vaguely familiar, the same way the image looked vaguely familiar. The details were beginning to sort of fill in in her mind, like the corners of a jigsaw puzzle.</p><p> </p><p>‘Just another thing we have to go and find,’ Beau said, musingly.</p><p> </p><p>‘Why?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Huh?’ Beau turned to look at Yasha, her frown deepening. ‘What do you mean?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Why do you have to go and find it? Is it not enough to know that it is there?’</p><p> </p><p>It was a question that had come up more than once, in the past. Not that Yasha had ever really failed to follow Beau into the heart of danger. She just didn’t quite understand <em>why</em> Beau did it.</p><p> </p><p>‘I dunno,’ Beau said. ‘I just…I like knowing all the facts, you know. Knowing what happened. That’s my whole thing.’ She shook her head. ‘I mean, it’s not really important. I definitely won’t be going looking for this thing.’ <em>Not right away, at least.</em> ‘Anyway, where did you learn Abyssal?’</p><p> </p><p>‘I,’ Yasha started, and then stopped suddenly. A frown crossed her face. ‘I don’t remember,’ she said. Beau didn’t push. She knew that Yasha had some missing memories, a long stretch of time of blankness. It was easier not to judge, now that Beau had apparently been writing spells that she had no recollection of in the back of her journal.</p><p> </p><p>Shit, if there was anyone at all that knew what she was going through, it was Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>They worked through the rest of the photos, Yasha helping translate where it was necessary. By the time they were almost halfway through, Beau had picked up on some of the more common words; it was similar enough to Primordial that she could definitely see the way the language had evolved, once demons had started to speak it. Having an actual written form was a huge change, for one thing. Not to mention the fact that demons were a little more humanoid in form, and the language had adapted to different vocal cords and tongue shapes and other kinds of things.</p><p> </p><p>It was really nice, having Yasha by her side again. It almost felt like the old days. Beau desperately wanted to ask her to stay, but Jester had been hanging around the doors, listening in whenever Beau and Yasha got a moment alone. This was definitely a conversation that they needed to have on dry land, far away from prying eyes and ears.</p><p> </p><p>Even still Beau did spend a decent chunk of her waking hours with Yasha. They took a couple of shifts together in the crow’s nest, and if it weren’t for the whole “having to keep an eye out for pirates” thing, Beau was sure it would have ended in at the very least a light make-out. She was kind of glad that it didn’t; she didn’t want to do anything by half-measures, and fucking Yasha in the crow’s nest would almost definitely be infringing on the hospitality that Orly had so graciously given them. Plus, she didn’t want to be too free with her feelings when she maybe potentially had someone else’s fucking <em>God </em>in her head.</p><p> </p><p>It was late in the morning when they finally docked in Port Damali. Beau had just gotten reception on her phone, and was surprised to see that there were no missed calls. She tried to ring Nott, and when she didn’t pick up, Caleb.</p><p> </p><p>No response.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t unheard of, and Beau didn’t think too much of it. It was always the way when she went on an expedition with no contact to the outside world. Her mind somehow expected everything else to change the same way that things had for her, but, more often than not, they had continued on as normal.</p><p> </p><p>Beau booked a flight home on her phone. Her options were a flight at seven o’clock that night, or in four days’ time. Beau didn’t particularly want to hang around Port Damali for four days, so she booked the flight for that night.</p><p> </p><p>‘Let me know about Marquet, yeah?’ she told Jester, who was inexplicably staying for a while. Not <em>that</em> inexplicably, based on the way Jester kept a very tight hold on Fjord’s hand. Caduceus was hovering behind Fjord, and Beau got the impression that he was sticking around, too. If Yasha hadn’t been leaving pretty quickly, Beau might have considered doing the same thing.</p><p> </p><p>But no. Yasha was going straight from the docks, to the airport, because the pilot she had chartered couldn’t delay any further.</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t really want to say goodbye, and she turned, rather than let Yasha see the look on her face. It would be so easy to just walk away, right now.</p><p> </p><p>‘Beau, wait.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau turned, to Yasha standing right in front of her. Before Beau could even say anything, Yasha had leaned in and kissed her.</p><p> </p><p>For a minute or so, it was like nothing else in the world existed. Beau wrapped her hands around Yasha’s neck, and pulled her in closer. It was almost like things had never changed. They had, of course, but for one brief moment, it was nice to forget.</p><p> </p><p>‘We’ll talk soon?’ Yasha murmured, when they finally pulled apart.</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah,’ Beau breathed. ‘Really soon.’ She didn’t want to let go, but she knew she had to. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jester hold out her hand.</p><p> </p><p>Fjord gave a sigh, and then pulled a handful of gold notes from his wallet, slapping them into Jester’s hand. ‘This is the last time I make a bet with you.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau couldn’t even bring herself to be mad.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Eighty-five thousand words, and there's your first proper kiss. Hope it was worth the wait.</p><p>Next up, <s>Three's Company with Jester, Fjord and Caduceus</s> minor hiatus.</p><p>I think there are at least two major arcs left, with some minor ones, and some more flashbacks. When we come back, we'll head straight into a flashback, and after that, find out what Nott and Caleb have been doing all this time. I'll be taking the time to plan out the rest of everything, and make sure it all makes sense, as well as letting my brain detox a bit, and working on some more mindless stuff. So who knows when an update will come.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. The Frozen Deep (Part One)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XV – The Frozen Deep (Part One)</p>
<p>
  <em>Five and a half years ago</em>
</p>
<p>Shadycreek Run</p>
<p>Yasha waited until just after the bar door had clicked shut before turning on Molly. ‘Why did you do that?’ she seethed, and for a moment, he looked almost scared of her. They very rarely fought, but when they did…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What, send the kid away with her tail between her legs?’ To his credit, he looked mildly uncomfortable now that she had called him on it. ‘She wanted to bang you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You think I did not see that?’ Yasha was no fool. Not to brag or anything, but she’d had no shortage of people that wanted to bang her. She knew how to deal with them</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly hesitated. ‘She wanted to bang you, and you were considering it. But that’s not the kind of person that wants a relationship, Yasha. That’s a person that hits it and quits it, and leaves you heartbroken. I didn’t want to see you make a mistake.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It was my mistake to make,’ Yasha said, leaving no room for interpretation. Not that she would have done anything. She just would have preferred to let Beau down gently. Or maybe that would have been just as cruel.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Give it an hour,’ Molly said, airily. ‘You’ll find her at one of the other taverns, deep in her cups, and if you really want, you can apologize, call me an idiot, and fuck her brains out.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>An hour later, though, Yasha went out and checked the other taverns, and Beau was nowhere to be found. It took twenty minutes of asking around before she learned that Beau had hitched a ride south down the Glory Run Road. For almost five minutes, Yasha considered going after her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But, it was very late, and more to the point, they didn’t have anything in the way of transport. At least not anything that would be able to catch a vehicle that was almost an hour and a half ahead of them, and could have been going south-west to Rexxentrum, or south-east to Hupperdook. Yasha gave an unconscious shiver. The Glory Run Road was definitely not a place they wanted to go down without a vehicle.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Slightly fuming, Yasha returned to the <em>Landlocked Lady</em>. She bought a very large tankard of ale, and sat down opposite Molly. To his credit, he did look a little ashamed. ‘Where’s your girlfriend?’ he asked, in a voice of fake joviality. He clearly already knew the answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Gone,’ Yasha said, coolly. ‘You know, there are a lot of things we could have used her expertise on. The Shadebarrow job, for one.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Molly waved a hand. ‘Come on, Yasha. Shadebarrow's a bust. We’ll wait for the next sucker with a pocket full of gold to come around, and run through the whole thing again.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha sighed. He was probably right. Shadebarrow was a thousand miles away, both figuratively and literally. Still, as she took a very long sip of her drink, she couldn’t help but glance back at the door, seeing if it would open.</p>
<p>…</p>
<p>It took a while to get back to Zadash.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The worst of it had been the eight-hour long ride she took in the back of someone’s pick-up truck on the way to Rexxentrum, exposed to the pouring rain. It was still far less painful than it would have been to stay in Shadycreek run, and willingly let herself get utterly embarrassed by a couple of people she’d come close to maybe calling friends.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They had been fun enough to hang around with, after all, even for mercenaries. Unfortunately, Beau had made that oh so stupid mistake of believing that they were in it for anything other than the money.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>More fool her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From Rexxentrum, she had booked the cheapest possible flight to Zadash, which didn’t leave until two days later. Instead of spending money she barely had on a hotel room, she opted to sleep under some chairs in the airport, clutching the baggage containing everything she had found in Molaesmyr protectively.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>By the time she actually <em>made </em>it to Zadash, back to her own apartment, she slept for almost eighteen hours, and woke to two missed calls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The number was a Kamordah one, and Beau was utterly confused about who the fuck would be calling her from Kamordah, until she checked her voicemail, and heard the frustratingly slow voice of Pumat Sol, asking her to come to his office.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Awesome.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe she’d been in Shadycreek Run for long enough that things had progressed, but Beau wasn’t exactly optimistic. She vaguely recalled an email from Pumat saying that even if things did go smoothly, it would be six months from her parents’ date of death before she actually got anything. It had been…two months? Shit. She’d kind of forgotten. Definitely not six months, at the very least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The only reason he’d be asking her to come in was if he needed something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Better to do it sooner, rather than later.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau had been expecting to wait at least half an hour in the waiting room, but she was ushered into Pumat’s office almost immediately. Through the window, Beau could see the Rainbow Vineyards. She felt a strange jolt in her stomach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I would have thought your offices would be in Zadash,’ she said. Not that Kamordah wasn’t big enough (or rich enough) to have lawyers. For some reason, Zadash seemed more like his speed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘We do have a branch in Zadash,’ he told her. ‘My brother Pumat works there.’ Beau closed her eyes. That was about right.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So what do you need me here for, Pumat? You did get my message that I was going out of town, right?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh, I got your message.’ He nodded. ‘The think I called you about is a little more serious. I’m still trying to get all of the details, but there is an individual claiming that she is responsible for your father’s fortune, and is thus insisting that the money should all go to her. I have a copy of her letter right here.’ He took a single page letter that looked like it had been photocopied, and passed it over to Beau. The logo in the top right-hand corner read “Prism and Sage Attorneys.” Beau glanced over the letter which was so full of legal jargon that she couldn’t make heads or tails of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I mean, she’s full of shit,’ Beau said, though there was a sliver of doubt in the back of her mind. After all, it wasn’t as though her father had ever talked to her about it. For all she knew, this woman <em>could</em> have been responsible for her father’s fortune.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Unfortunately, that’s not for me to decide.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I mean, we can fight this, right?’ Beau asked. She wasn’t even sure why she actually cared. ‘You can…I dunno, make this go away?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh, no,’ Pumat said, genially. ‘I can’t represent you, I represent the Estate, whatever that legal outcome may be. You’d hafta find your own legal advice, if you want to fight it.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stared at him. ‘Are you <em>kidding</em> me?’ she said. ‘This woman wants to take all my parents’ money, and I can’t even use you as a lawyer?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I’m afraid not. We wouldn’t want there to be a, ah…conflict of interest.’ Beau glared. Conflict of interest her ass.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So what, I get a lawyer, and then they fight it out with her lawyer, and you decide who gets what?’ Beau didn’t particularly like the sound of that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh, I don’t decide,’ Pumat told her. ‘The courts will decide. Of course, in the interest of saving time and money there could be a ah mediation of sorts if that’s the path you wanted to go down.’ Beau was starting to get pissed. He was still talking with the same slow, meandering voice as though they were talking about something that was far less urgent, like what he had done on the weekend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Great,’ Beau muttered. She didn’t know any lawyers other than Pumat, and, more to the point, she didn’t really have the money to pay any of them. ‘Do you have any recommendations?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Ah, unfortunately I can’t provide any recommendations, as that would be—’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘A conflict of interest,’ Beau muttered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Well that was just fucking great. Who the fuck <em>was</em> this person that was making a claim against her parents’ Estate? Claiming that they were responsible for her father’s wealth, for the success of the company?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was just fucking bullshit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau was seething with anger as she left and the letter clutched in her hand was very quickly becoming a crumpled ball.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Find her own legal advice. Well that was useless advice. Beau knew exactly one lawyer in the world, and she had just walked out of his office.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This wasn’t particularly something that Beau wanted to deal with straight away, so she did the appropriate thing, and ignored it for a week. During that time, Pumat sent her an official letter, explaining exactly the same things that he had during their meeting, and probably charged her for it, too. She tried very hard not to throw it straight in the bin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The only thing that even approached good news came from when she checked in with the Cobalt Soul, and showed them the skull that she had found in Molaesmyr. Dairon was very impressed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘This is a very significant find,’ they told Beau. ‘I may even neglect to tell Zeenoth how many laws were broken in obtaining it.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau grinned, in spite of herself. The Soul would catalogue and study the skull, and make arrangements to return it to the elves that now inhabited Bysaes Tyl.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘There should be no trouble in getting the High Curator to authorize a finder’s fee,’ Dairon said. She had that look in her eye, like “I know what’s going on, even if you aren’t telling me.” Great.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With that in mind, Beau began the arduous process of looking for a lawyer. She was sure that that was something that Dairon probably could have helped with, but it felt weirdly personal. Like she needed to do it on her own to get through this stupid mess.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The lawyer that she found was…well, sketchy wasn’t the right word. Low key might have been more appropriate. All the other ones – the ones that might have been much better lawyers – all had fees on their websites that gave Beau a heart attack. These rates seemed pretty low by comparison, even if they were worse than anything Beau had seen. It would cost just as much money for a lawyer to send a letter as it had for Molly and Yasha to take Beau to Molaesmyr.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She felt a jolt in her stomach at that. She had tried very hard not to think about that since she’d gotten back. Thankfully – or not thankfully, depending on how you looked at it – she had been otherwise distracted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This lawyer, at least, was in Zadash, which meant that Beau didn’t have to trek all the way out to a city she hated, to have a meeting that she didn’t want to have.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She was pretty hot. Her dark skin was sprinkled with golden freckles, and her hair was so pale a blonde that it almost looked white. She did have a thing for the ladies with white hair. And the ladies with black hair. And ladies in general, apparently.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The name on the placard said “Reani Samliel, Estate law.” She looked pretty young to be a lawyer, but then, young wasn’t always a bad thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So,’ she said. ‘Tell me your story.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was a pretty long story.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So, my parents and my little brother died in a plane crash, leaving everything to me, and some crazy woman has come out of the woodwork saying that she’s responsible for the success of my father’s business, and therefore she’s making a claim against the Estate.’ Okay, so maybe not that long. Beau passed over the letter that she had tried painstakingly to flatten out, and passed it over to Reani.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, first off, she can’t do that,’ Reani said. She sounded personally outraged by the injustice of it. ‘People can’t just “make claims,” against things, they have to be a member of a certain class of people.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I…what?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Generally that means someone that is a child of, or was dependent on the deceased. If you don’t belong to that class of people, you can’t make a claim for provisions. Of course, she could be making claim of a debt against the Estate, which is a different thing altogether.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sure,’ Beau said, not understanding in the slightest. Reani pulled the letter towards herself, and began to read. Once or twice, she made a “hmmph,” sort of sound.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Okay,’ she said. ‘This…we can deal with this. So, I’ll send a letter to the lawyer for the Estate, and then he’ll send a letter to the crazy lady, and we’ll figure out exactly what she wants, and what proof she has that what she says happened happened, and exactly what we can do about it.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Right. That doesn’t sound cheap.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘We can start with one letter, and see what they say,’ Reani said. There definitely seemed like there was something she wasn’t telling Beau, but, the Google reviews had been pretty good, and for some reason Beau trusted this bubbly young woman far more than she would trust some middle-aged man doing the same thing. ‘Do you have a copy of the Wills?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Sure.’ Beau rummaged through her bag. She probably should have led with that one. She didn’t know much, but she knew enough to realize that they were a pretty important part of this whole endeavor. Reani started to read through the one on top – Beau’s father’s – and stopped.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Lionett? As in <em>Lionett, </em>Lionett?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah,’ Beau sighed. She was getting pretty tired of having this conversation with people. Weird that Reani hadn’t noticed it on the first letter, though.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reani hesitated. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said. ‘But are you sure you want <em>me</em>? Whoever it is that’s trying to make a claim is probably going to have crazy good lawyers, and…well, you’ve seen my sign.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah,’ Beau said. ‘I’m sure.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She signed a contract, and paid a shitton of gold down as a retainer. It was the last of what she had left after pawning the jade necklace and hiring Molly and Yasha to help get her to Molaesmyr. For all the good that had done. She would have been much better off having never gone there. At least then, she wouldn’t have felt so sorry for herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Admittedly, the Soul <em>had</em> given her a pretty nice bonus for the skull, which was something. Beau would have to start booking some more fights, just to get some cash in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Win or lose, they paid pretty well, and money was definitely something that Beau needed right now.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>Dairon had narrowed her eyes when Beau asked about booking fights, but had promised to put feelers out nonetheless. She came back two days later with half a dozen bookings, and the potential for more depending on how things went.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘The first one will give you good odds,’ they told Beau. ‘We have enough time to get some training in beforehand.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So Beau trained. This, at least was familiar ground. She liked training, even when there were no fights coming up. There was an utter certainty in being able to punch people in the face and have it feel satisfying, or Omnaplataing from guard and feeling like a godsdamned superhero.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>One day, after training, Beau was in the showers, soothing her aching muscles. Dairon had done a very smooth double-leg takedown, and within a minute had Beau tapping with a triangle choke. Her own fault for doing a sloppy guard pass.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just as Beau had put her pants back on, her phone rang.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It was Reani. Or, as she was listed in Beau’s phone “Hot Lawyer Chick.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yo.’ Oh, shit. Probably shouldn’t talk to her lawyer like that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Hi Beau, it’s Reani. Are you free to come into the office for a meeting sometime this week?</em>’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Do we have an update?’ Beau asked. She tried to slow down her breathing so it didn’t sound like she’d been running a marathon. Or been doing some very sweaty wrestling practice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>Not a specific update. There’s just some paperwork that I need you to sign, and I want to give a general update on where things are at.</em>’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Do you work on Yulisen? I’m busy up until then.’ She had her fight on Folsen night, and she definitely didn’t want any distractions until then. Dairon would kill her, for one thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘<em>I can come in for that,</em>’ Reani told her. ‘<em>I have some other things that I need to do. Does one o’clock work for you?</em>’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It did. Beau would hopefully be over the hangover by three o’clock, even if she probably would have some bruises and scars to show for the night’s work.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Folsen came quickly, and Beau was feeling more and more confident about her fighting condition. It had been a while since she’d been in the cage, but according to Dairon, lots of people were buying tickets in the hopes of seeing one of her infamous beatdowns.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a small undercurrent of nervousness that was utterly washed out by adrenaline.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The first round went pretty well. Beau won it pretty handily on points.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The second round was a little closer. Beau took a nasty right hook to the chin, but got some great elbows in. She still won the round, but it was a little closer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The third round was where it all went wrong.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau had just ducked away from a brutal right cross, when out of the corner of her eye, she saw the last person in the world that she expected to see. Yasha. Partway through the crowd, near the back, wearing that familiar leather jacket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Unfortunately, the thing about kickboxing matches was that it was generally a good idea to pay attention. Beau’s gaze was drawn for maybe two seconds, but it was enough that she didn’t quite have time to put a hand up to block the gloved fist that came for her face. Dazed, she staggered backwards, and the next teep to the ribs knocked her into the side of the cage. A second after that, she was getting her face pummeled in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The ref called it, only Beau was too unconscious to see it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>…</p>
<p>It felt like hours later, when she woke, but was probably only a couple of minutes. Dairon was splashing her face down with water, and holding an icepack to Beau’s broken nose.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Did I win?’ she asked, fully aware that she was being a smartass. <em>Ow</em>. <em>Jaw might be busted, too</em>.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Only if it was your goal to get beaten to shit.’ Dairon did not sound impressed. ‘That was supposed to be an easy fight. What happened?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Got distracted,’ Beau murmured. Her head was spinning, and everything felt kind of fuzzy. ‘Kinda want to sleep.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No,’ Dairon said, and it was funny how a single-word order from her coach slash boss slash mentor was enough to literally pull Beau from the brink of unconsciousness. Even still, Beau kept her eyes shut, trying to keep out the rapid, pulsing pain in her face, and her jaw and her head. Pretty much all over, really. ‘You are the one that wanted to fight, remember?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau remembered. Or at least, she thought she remembered. The whole “memory” thing was a little fuzzy. Why had she gotten distracted?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Excuse me,’ said a familiar voice, and Beau looked over and saw a very tall, blurry figure in a leather jacket. Oh yeah. <em>That </em>was why she had gotten distracted.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What are you doing here?’ Beau didn’t look up. She wasn’t even sure she would be able to see much, even if she did. Her eyes were both swollen, and there was a cut on her forehead that seemed to be gushing blood. Beau put an ineffectual hand up to stop it, and Dairon swatted it away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I wanted to talk.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau laughed, and then regretted it. The jaw was <em>definitely</em> fucked. ‘Ow. Fuck.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dairon’s look was bordering on reproachful. They turned to Yasha. ‘If you want to talk to Beauregard, you will have to wait until the doctor has seen her,’ they snapped, and Beau was kinda grateful. She definitely didn’t want Yasha to see her like this. That ship might have sailed, though.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Dairon did not speak again until Yasha had gone. ‘Was that why you got distracted? You saw a pretty girl in the audience?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘She was one of the mercs that helped me get to Molaesmyr,’ Beau muttered, trying to move her mouth as little as possible. Dairon clearly had enough experience with Beau’s mutterings that she did not need help interpreting the statement. Dark hands froze in their administering of first aid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Are we going to have a problem?’ Dairon asked, evenly, and Beau realized that they thought that Yasha was here to attack Beau, or to threaten her. Beau shook her head slightly, but even that small movement hurt like a motherfucker.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Personal,’ Beau grunted. ‘Not professional.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Did you fuck her?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau barked out a very painful laugh, and regretted it. ‘I wish.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The doctor did a decent job. He stitched the wound on Beau’s forehead, and checked her vision, and fixed the jaw, which turned out to be just dislocated. Was still painful as shit, though. The concussion was bad enough that Dairon point-blank refused to let Beau drive home, and forced her to wait around in the green room while they signed some paperwork with the league organizer. Probably the same shit they always had to sign: “blah, blah, blah, please don’t sue us because you got punched in the face.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At least now, she could talk without too much pain. Or swear, when she learned that the loser’s fee was a thousand gold, compared to the winner’s five thousand. ‘Fuck!’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Is this a bad time?’ Yasha was back, and she looked appropriately sheepish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, it’s not nearly as bad as catching my eye while I’m in the middle of a fight,’ Beau said, drily. ‘You just cost me four thousand gold.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I did not mean to startle you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah, well you did.’ Beau put the icepack back on her face. ‘Was there something you wanted, Yasha?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘To apologize,’ Yasha said, and Beau, to her credit, was impressed. She’d half thought she would have had to draw that one out a little to get it. ‘For what happened in Shadycreek Run.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Which part?’ It was a dangling line, and Beau wasn’t sure if Yasha would take the bait.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I did not want you to leave,’ Yasha continued, which absolutely did not answer the question. ‘Molly was…trying to be protective, and failed very miserably.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well now it just sounds like you’re blaming him.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘He thought that I would sleep with you, and get my heart broken,’ Yasha clarified, very bluntly. ‘He wanted to make sure that you were serious. He went too far.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Oh,’ Beau said. ‘Well, I mean, I don’t sleep with people that aren’t interested.’ Yasha either didn’t notice the bait for that one, or didn’t care to take it. ‘Especially not when they’ve just cost me four thousand gold.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha didn’t say anything. She looked appropriately guilty, and for a split second, Beau felt a little guilty herself. Maybe this wasn’t the best time to talk. ‘Look, how about we do this another time. I’ve got a lot of shit going on at the moment, and I know for a fact I’m gonna end up saying something I’ll regret.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I—Okay,’ Yasha said. ‘Let me…’ She pulled a flier from her pocket (“Pride of Zadash, Lionett vs. McNamara!”) and wrote down her number. Beau didn’t bother mentioned that Yasha had already given Beau her number. ‘Here.’ In any other circumstance, Beau might have called it “thirsty.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha didn’t move. She looked down at the flier, which Beau hadn’t picked up. ‘Pride of Zadash – is that what they call you?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau laughed. ‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘They somehow managed to fit in both a lion pun, and a gay pun. I’d call that dedication, even if I’m technically not from Zadash. Gonna be some disappointed punters out there tonight.’ Okay, now she was definitely laying it on a little thick. Yasha <em>had</em> come all the way to Zadash to see her. Shadycreek Run to Zadash was no joke. Beau should probably at least give her the time of day. ‘Will you be around tomorrow?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Yasha said. ‘I came…I needed to see you.’ Beau was pretty sure that she had been about to say, “I came to see you,” which was something. She’d never had someone travel halfway down the continent just to see her. She sighed. Maybe she should give Yasha the benefit of the doubt.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You wanna take me out to breakfast?’ Beau was always starving the day after a fight. Breakfast would not be small. Her jaw would probably be able to handle small bites.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I…Sure.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘There’s a McMelf’s on Amber Avenue,’ Beau told her. ‘Next to the Tri-Spires Cinema. Maybe meet at eleven o’clock?’ It was the only McMelf’s that Beau knew of that did an all-day breakfast. Even still, Yasha raised an eyebrow. So Beau liked shitty fast food the day after a fight. There was nothing wrong with that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She went home, and slept like the dead. It was a good thing that Dairon had insisted on driving her home, because by the time she Beau was unlocking her front door, she couldn’t see out of her left eye.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The next morning (after a respectable sleep-in), Beau took an Uber back to the sports stadium, and picked up her car. It took four or five goes to get the engine to start, and when it did, it sounded like someone had thrown it into a woodchipper. It needed. Well, it needed everything replaced. Needed a new engine, needed new wheels. Even the steering wheel was covered in peeling plastic, but since Beau could barely even afford rent, repairs would have to wait.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she got to McMelf’s, Yasha wasn’t there yet. Fair enough, it was only ten forty-five. Traffic on the Byway had been pretty clear, and she’d had a straight run from the Pentamarket.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau ordered a bacon, egg and cheese muffin, and a large black coffee. She would have killed for some fries, but that just wasn’t in the budget. Beau ate her muffin very slowly, because if she ate it all straight away, then she’d just be hungry again. That, and the fact that it still kind of hurt to open her mouth too much.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha got there at eleven fifteen, wearing motorcycle leathers, and carrying a helmet under her arm. Beau was surprised (and maybe a little bit turned on). Not surprised that Yasha rode a motorcycle – that was pretty unsurprising – but surprised that she had apparently ridden her motorcycle here from Shadycreek Run.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As the dragon flew, it was about four hundred miles, but since no roads went through the Silberquel Ridge, driving was more like five or six hundred miles. So not a <em>huge</em> distance, but nothing to sneeze at, either.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Hot,’ Beau said, as Yasha sat down across from her. Yasha looked slightly non-plussed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘It is very warm, yes.’ Beau stared. It took her half a second to realize that Yasha was fucking with her, just a little. She couldn’t help but crack a grin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha ordered coffee, and nothing else. She was halfway through her cup, when she seemed to remember something.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I have something for you.’ She pulled a stack of notes from her pocket, and set them on the table. ‘Here.’ Beau snatched them out of view almost instantly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Holy fuck, Yasha, you can’t just go flashing that kind of money around.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha stared at her. ‘This is not Shadycreek Run. I would like to see someone try to rob us in McMelf’s food court.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau looked at the money under the table.  It was a small stack, but the bills were all of the hundred gold denomination. ‘What’s this?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You said I lost you four thousand gold.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Yash, I was being hyperbolic.’ Yasha stared at her. ‘I was exaggerating for effect. I should know better than to get distracted in a fight. It wasn’t your fault.’ She grabbed the discarded paper bag that her breakfast had come in, and shoved the cash inside, handing the bag back to Yasha. It kind of hurt. At least as much as her jaw, and her face and her ribs hurt. The last of Beau’s money had gone towards the legal retainer, and she’d really been counting on the winner’s fee. That four thousand gold would have gone a really long way. Two months’ rent, and six months’ worth of beans and rice, and fix the weird whirring sound that the car made when she changed gears. ‘You didn’t come all the way to Zadash just to apologize, did you?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No,’ Yasha admitted. ‘On a recent job, I found some things I thought you might be interested in. Ancient artifacts.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau perked up. Ancient artifacts were almost worth getting punched in the face for. Almost, but not quite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha reached into a different jacket pocket, and pulled out a series of five by seven-inch photographs. Beau didn’t know anyone that still used physical photos rather than just digital shots, but these seemed like they’d been either printed or developed at home.  They didn’t have a logo on the back, in any case.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘What was your job?’ Beau asked, even as she pulled the photos towards her. There were about thirty of them, of crumbling stone, and barely uncovered remains. They were too close up for Beau to distinguish landmarks, or even a general location.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Ah…Escort,’ Yasha told her, which was clearly a very broadly painted explanation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau got to the third photo, and stopped. Though it was in pieces, she recognized the structure of what had once been an Arcane Cannon. There was a strange, burgeoning inkling in the back of her head. She looked at the next picture, and it was solidified.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not a lot of artifacts had made it out of Aeor. People tended to die horribly before they managed to fully retrieve them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Text, on the other hand, was a different matter altogether. Ancient Aeori writings were one of the few things that <em>had</em> made it across to Wynandir. It was why they knew so much, without really knowing anything at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Do you know what this is?’ Beau asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No, that is why I am asking you. The people I was with seemed to be very excited.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yeah, and with good reason. Have you ever heard of Aeor?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha frowned. ‘Is that the city in Tal’Dorei?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shook her head. ‘No, that’s Emon. Aeor was a city on Eiselcross – you know all the islands north of the Greying Wildlands – it was a floating city that existed a couple of thousand years ago. They had like…crazy good technology compared to the rest of the world. One day, though, the city came crashing into the ground. There’s a big fucking crater up there, with ruins that would give any archaeologist a wet dream, only no-one’s ever come back alive.’ Okay, that wasn’t entirely true. They hadn’t come back alive with any credible tale to tell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They ended up spending almost two hours at McMelf’s. At one point, Yasha went up and ordered more food, and more coffee, and Beau had almost forgotten why she was mad. She had to wipe the grease from the fries off of her fingers every thirty seconds, even while she looked at the photos, making notes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You know what this is, right?’ Beau asked. ‘It’s the score of a lifetime. Both historically speaking, and…money speaking. A single artefact from Aeor could bring you a hundred thousand gold, minimum.’ There was a very long pause. ‘Why did you want to show me these, Yasha?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Well, Molly said that they looked very important,’ Yasha admitted. ‘He…I…’ She hesitated. Bit her lip. Beau tried not to be very turned on by that. ‘Do you want to go on a very dangerous mission? To Aeor?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau stared at her. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But it’ll cost you five hundred gold.’ She was kidding, of course – or at the very least purposefully being a dick – but Yasha’s eyes widened in a hurt sort of shock, and Beau immediately felt guilty. Yasha did seem the type to take things at face value. ‘That was a shitty thing for me to say, I’m sorry.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘No, I probably deserved it.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You don’t deserve it. Molly, maybe, but not you.’ Yasha opened her mouth as though to argue, but seemed to decide against it. Beau was grateful. She really didn’t need to be going around picking fights just for the sake of it. ‘If you want me to come, you want me to come because you want me there. Not because you want to make up for something that you did.’ Yasha took a moment to process the words, which had been a mouthful to even say, let alone comprehend.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I want you there,’ Yasha said, simply. ‘You are…a very knowledgeable and capable person, and any expedition would be fortunate to have you.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau felt herself grow hot. It wasn’t often that she received compliments from people. Heck, she couldn’t even remember the last time she’d gotten one from someone. Probably something Dairon had said that was borderline backhanded.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau checked her watch. It was twelve forty-five. The day had sort of sped by, since she’d been with Yasha. There was something she was forgetting, though. Something that she was supposed to do…</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>FUCK.</em>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>The meeting with Reani.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>In light of Yasha showing up, and the fight, and getting the absolute shit kicked out of her, Beau had completely forgotten about the meeting she had scheduled for that afternoon. She stood, sending cold fries scattering across the table.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I am so sorry, Yasha. I literally just remembered that I have a meeting to get to.’ It sounded like such a stupid excuse. Beau was wearing torn jeans, and a blue hoodie, and she hadn’t bothered to put make-up on to cover her bruises. ‘Can I call you?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha looked startled, and Beau was sure that she was skeptical of the excuse. ‘Oh. Um. Okay.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I’m so sorry.’ Beau grabbed her bag, and ran out to her shitty car. It took three tries before the car started, and Beau muttered a prayer of thanks to anyone that was listening. Then, the engine cut out.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘FUCK!’ Beau slammed her head against the steering wheel, jarring her still aching jaw. This was turning into an utter shitcunt of a week. First the estate stuff, then the fight, and now the stupid fucking car not starting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Godsdamnit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There was a knock at the window. Beau looked up, and saw a concerned looking Yasha. Thankfully, the window was a shitty hand-crank.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha leaned in through the window. ‘Do you need a ride?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They were twenty minutes away from Reani’s office, but Yasha’s bike was agile enough to move in and out of traffic, which got them there in just under fifteen. Beau was only five minutes late. Hopefully, it would be enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha was staring at the sign outside the building. She had probably put together that Beau wasn’t seeing the dentist, or the optometrist, or the town planner. ‘Why are you seeing a lawyer?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Eh, it’s a long story. I might be a while, but you can come in if you want.’ Beau wasn’t sure why she was inviting Yasha into a meeting with her lawyer. Maybe because Yasha had a generally sort of intimidating presence. Though, given that Reani was all of five foot one, even Beau was taller than her. It was just a nice idea that there was someone on her side.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reani didn’t have a secretary, and when Beau knocked on her office door, she was neck deep in papers. ‘Come in,’ she called out, and Beau pushed the door open.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Both of the chairs opposite Reani were piled high with even more paperwork. ‘Oh, shit, sorry.’ Reani ran around to move them out of the way. She stopped, suddenly, when she saw Yasha in all of her six feet glory, wearing head to toe leather, arms folded, standing behind Beau. ‘Hi there.’ Her voice was low, and cautious.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I’m Beau’s bodyguard.’ Yasha didn’t unfold the arms. Beau had to suppress laughter. Bodyguard. She liked that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Weirdly enough, so did Reani. ‘You know,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘That’s probably a really good thing. I’m still filing paperwork to figure out who this mysterious party is that’s trying to make a claim, but there’s a non-zero chance that they might come after you to get you to back off, especially when there’s this much money involved.’ She dumped the chair papers onto the empty desk beside her, and sat back down.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The energy of the room changed completely. Beau hadn’t even <em>considered</em> that possibility, and apparently, neither had Yasha. Not that Yasha even had the context to consider that. Beau had kind of thrown her in it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau sat down. Yasha stayed standing. Out of the corner of her eye, Beau noticed that Yasha adjusted her stance so that she could see Reani, and whatever was happening outside the office. She had clearly done this bodyguard thing before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘So where exactly are we at?’ Beau asked.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Reani sighed. ‘Look, Beau, I’ll be honest. This isn’t something that’s going to happen quickly. I’ll send a letter, and then they’ll spend six weeks going back and forth with their client, and eventually send one back. Even with regular debts, these things can take months, sometimes years.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Great,’ Beau muttered. ‘I’m gonna go ahead and guess that this sort of thing isn’t going to be cheap, either.’ It was the same subject that she had broached in their initial meeting, but at that point, Reani had very expertly evaded the question.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>This time, Reani gave her a sympathetic sort of smile. ‘It’s generally the way that a lot of people can’t pay fees until they actually receive money from the Estate, and it’s my job to make sure that you actually do receive that money. If it looks like we may not get it, that’s something we can discuss then.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It wasn’t entirely convincing, but Beau knew that it was the best she was going to get. Reani gave her some paperwork to sign that she hadn’t had prepared last time, and that was about it. One of the bits of paperwork was the fee structure that Reani had given verbally the first time. Beau was right. It wasn’t a cheap process. Since meetings cost a lot more than phone calls or letters, Beau decided to keep it short. She thanked Reani for her time, and left the office with Yasha in her wake.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If Beau’d had a packet of cigarettes, she would have lit one up. It was something she’d mostly done as a teenager, in an effort to look cool, rather than any real desire for one. This, though, seemed like it would have been the right occasion. Instead, she slumped down on a brick wall that bordered a very nice-looking garden of azaleas. She could see the way Yasha eyed them, maybe because she thought there might be someone hiding in among the vibrant pink flowers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘As you can see, I’ve got some shit going on right now,’ Beau said, plainly. Yasha didn’t say anything. ‘In fact, a trip half-way across the world to go on an ill-advised treasure hunt would probably be a welcome distraction.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha nodded. ‘So you’ll do it?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Of course I’ll do it,’ Beau told her. It wasn’t even a question. ‘Is Molly coming?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A nervous sort of look crossed Yasha’s face. ‘Will that be a problem?’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Nah, just tell him I’m going to kick his ass,’ Beau said. ‘Now, all the expeditions to Eiselcross leave from Icehaven,’ she said. ‘And even Icehaven is a <em>real fucking bitch</em> to get to. We’d be better off starting in Rexxentrum, and chartering a prop plane to Icehaven, or something. I’ll do some research.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha smiled. ‘Thank-you for…Well, thank-you.’ She went to the azalea garden, and picked some flowers. Beau cracked a smile. Apparently, she hadn’t been watching for assassins.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha gave Beau a ride home. At one point, Beau would have to pick her car up from McMelf’s, though at least if it got towed, she wouldn’t have to worry about the stupid thing anymore.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘You leaving town, then?’ Beau asked, in what she hoped was a casual sort of voice. It was pathetic. She had done a pretty fucking quick turnaround to being once more smitten with this tall, hot angel of a woman.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Yes,’ Yasha said. ‘If we are going to a dangerous place, then there is a lot that we need to prepare.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Right, right.’ Beau looked down at her scuffed shoes, rather than look Yasha in the eye. Consequently, she was taken very off guard when Yasha pulled her into a hug. ‘Whoah, watch the ribs.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘I’m sorry.’ Yasha loosened her grip, but Beau could have sworn she felt a hand brush across her waist. It wasn’t until she went back up to her apartment, and took off her jacket that she realized that Yasha had put a paper bag in her pocket. She hadn’t even felt it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau gave an exasperated sort of laugh, but looked inside the bag anyway. She saw exactly what she had expected to see. Well, exactly what she had expected to see, plus one more thing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the bottom was four thousand gold in notes. On top of them was a handwritten note that said only, “Call me.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Have a vaguely plotted out idea of where the rest of the story is going to go, so let's start things back up again. There's like...15 more chapters, but that will probably blow out to about 20.</p>
<p>Things I know hardly anything about: history, linguistics.<br/>Things I know slightly more about: jiu-jitsu, Estate administration.</p>
<p>This will now be nothing but martial arts and legal drama.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Frozen Deep (Part Two)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Mild emetophobia warning for this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>XVI – The Frozen Deep (Part Two)</p><p> </p><p>Beau went to the library.</p><p> </p><p>It seemed the appropriate thing to do. Eiselcross was a place with a lot of unknowns. Even the people that had come back from there didn’t seem entirely sure about what was going on. This was going to take some very, very in-depth research.</p><p> </p><p>It was cold. That was the main thing that most of the books she found said. They all said a lot of different stuff about everything else, but the fact that Eiselcross was cold was the one thing that could be agreed upon.</p><p> </p><p>So, cold weather gear was the first thing that they would have to take. Clothes, for one thing – thermals, jackets and pants, boots, snow goggles – but then things that were a little more situation dependent, like crampons, and snowshoes, and ice axes. Beau had been ice-climbing once or twice. It was pretty fun, but really fucking dangerous. One hit of the axe in the wrong place could be the difference between a chunk of ice-wall staying solid, or plummeting into an abyss.</p><p> </p><p>For all that Molly and Yasha seemed to be very experienced mercenaries, Beau didn’t think that they had ever done something like that. Yasha might have, if she had military experience, but Molly, in his technicolor blazer…yeah, no.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The next thing Beau checked out was how much it cost to get from Icehaven to Eiselcross.</p><p> </p><p>There were a few different companies that made the five hundred or so mile journey from Icehaven to Balenpost. The lowest price for a journey to Eiselcross was five thousand gold. Per person.</p><p> </p><p>‘Fuck,’ Beau muttered. Well, that was going to be a problem. She grabbed her phone, and sent a quick text to Yasha. <em>Do you have an email address? Been doing some research on Eiselcross that you probably want to see. Might be trickier than we thought.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>A few minutes passed before Beau’s phone buzzed. <em>Yashattack@sending.com.</em></p><p> </p><p>
  <em>…yashattack?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Molly made it for me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Well, that made sense. Yasha did seem like the person that would have been reticent to make an email address of her own accord. Beau would have at least expected something filthy from Molly, though.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Pretty tame for Molly.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>He said that bigarmsyasha was already taken.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Beau snorted. She wasn’t sure whether Yasha had been trying to make a joke or not, but it was funny anyway.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Okay, keep an eye out for an email from me.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Beau compiled the email. It took a pretty long time; she’d written most of her notes down in her journal, and sending them to Yasha meant typing them up, but more importantly, making it so that a normal person could actually understand them. Yasha wasn’t going to be able to look at the single A5 page that just said “LAVA?!” in really big letters, and know what it actually meant.</p><p> </p><p>The last paragraph of the email was pretty to-the-point.</p><p> </p><p><em>Anyway, </em>Beau wrote,<em> beyond a river made of lava, and the fact that everybody seems to die a horrible death, our biggest problem seems to be that it’s super fucking expensive to get there. The cheapest option is five thousand gold from Icehaven, and you have to share a berth with all the other treasure-hunting weirdos that think it’s a good idea to go to the most dangerous place in the world.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Let me know what you think.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <em>Beau.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Beau didn’t expect to hear back from Yasha any time soon. She expected that Yasha would take the information that Beau had found back to Molly, and that maybe she would get a return email in a few days.</p><p> </p><p>When her phone rang as she was leaving the library, then, she was surprised to see Yasha’s number come up on the Caller ID. ‘Hey.’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I read your email</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Oh.’ Beau wasn’t sure why she <em>should</em> be surprised by that. After all, Yasha had driven five hundred miles just to tell her about the mere possibility of this trip. ‘What do you think?’</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>I still want to go</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau <em>was</em> surprised by that. She had been pretty sure that Yasha was just a mercenary. Well…not that mercenaries didn’t go to Eiselcross. In fact, a shit-ton of mercenaries went to Eiselcross. It was just the buy-in was a little richer than most of them could handle.</p><p> </p><p>Beau had a very strange suspicion that Yasha wanted to do this as a sort of apology to Beau. Or was that just Beau being a vain idiot, thinking people liked her way more than they actually did. Sadly, it was a problem that she got a lot. Thinking that people liked her, and then finding out, far too late, that they had only really just tolerated her.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well there’s a lot of equipment we’d have to buy, and a bunch of different permits…I don’t think this is one of those things that we can plan overnight, Yasha,’ Beau said. ‘Plus, it’d be a hell of a lot easier to plan it together, especially if you already have an idea of where on Eiselcross you’d actually want to go.’</p><p> </p><p>There was a long pause. ‘<em>I don’t think we’ve thought about that yet.</em>’ We, Beau assumed, meaning her and Molly. ‘<em>We could maybe come to Zadash next week</em>?’</p><p> </p><p>Well that definitely sounded like they were serious. Or at least Yasha was serious, and wanted to drag Molly into it, which was a possibility, though Beau got the distinct impression that if anyone was going to do any dragging, it would be Molly dragging Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>‘Sure,’ Beau said. It wasn’t like she had anything planned. At least not anything that couldn’t be rescheduled. ‘Tell me when, and I’ll…’ She had almost said “come pick you up,” but then she remembered firstly, that Yasha would possibly be on the bike, and secondly, that her car was…somewhere. It had been gone when she’d returned to McMelf’s, so she’d assumed that it had been towed. There wasn’t much of value in there; some old CDs that she never listened to, and some dead tubes of chapstick, and more than a few pairs of socks that needed washing. On the whole, not a great loss. It’d probably be cheaper and easier to get it deregistered, and buy a new one, than to pay the impound fees. ‘I’ll clear my schedule,’ she said.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t cleared entirely. Beau still had stuff to do at the library, and for the Soul. It was a relief that she didn’t have classes anymore, because those she wouldn’t have been able to just drop to fly halfway around the world to visit some ancient ruins. Would have been some pretty sweet extra credit, though.</p><p> </p><p>What she <em>did</em> do though, was tell Dairon to book a bunch more fights. Even the loser’s fee would help when it came to paying for a trip to a frozen wasteland. Dairon was not an idiot, and raised an eyebrow at Beau’s sudden enthusiasm.</p><p> </p><p>‘Why the sudden desire to fight?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Legal fees,’ Beau said, which wasn’t entirely a lie. ‘I had to hire a lawyer cos some assjockey is trying to make a claim against my parents’ Estate, and it’s super fucking expensive. Do you know how much it costs for a lawyer to send a letter? Like…four hundred gold. It’s nuts.’</p><p> </p><p>Dairon narrowed their eyes, but did not dispute Beau’s claim. In any case, they promised to put the feelers out, to see if anyone was willing to book Beau. ‘It may be a little too soon for a rematch,’ Dairon said. ‘But there are some others out there that could stand to be taken down a peg or two.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau laughed. Dairon wasn’t wrong.</p><p> </p><p>Later that day, she received a message from Yasha. <em>Flying in tomorrow,</em> the message said. <em>Can we stay with you, or should we book a hotel?</em></p><p> </p><p><em>You can stay with me, but tell Molly he’s not allowed ;)</em>. Beau hovered over the send button, and was on the verge of pressing it, before chickening out. She sighed. <em>Yeah, you can stay with me</em>. It would be cramped, but Beau could sleep on the couch. Or Molly could sleep on the couch…Someone could sleep on the couch.</p><p> </p><p>Though, if Yasha and Molly were flying here, then Beau probably needed to get a car. Good thing she’d just gotten four thousand gold that absolutely hadn’t been given out of pity. She couldn’t actually afford to spend four thousand on a new car, but she might be able to get away with a thousand or so.</p><p> </p><p>She walked to the Pentamarket, where there were a bunch of decent sized used car dealerships. After a couple of hours of walking through and ignoring the hard sales pitch from various car salesmen, found a nice used Moorbounder that was within her budget. It had a couple of hundred thousand miles on it, but the Moorbounders were generally pretty reliable, even when they were that old. Since Beau walked to work, the main thing she would be using the car for was picking up mercenaries with whom she had a complicated relationship with at the airport, and going to all of these stupid meetings with lawyers.</p><p> </p><p>Frankly, Beau was starting to think she would be much happier if she just took a step backwards, and only did things when people told her that they needed to be done.</p><p> </p><p>She paid nine-hundred and twenty-five gold for her Moorbounder, not including taxes, and spent the rest of the afternoon swapping over her insurance, and deregistering the old car. There was no small amount of yelling with the Zadash Department of Transport, which was strangely cathartic. In the end, Beau had to contact the car yard to get them to release the number plates before they turned it into a cube. All in all, a mildly productive day, if somewhat frustrating.</p><p> </p><p>Once the car was sorted, Beau cleaned her apartment. It was a small apartment, so there wasn’t a great deal to clean, but there were a few things she’d brought home from the Cobalt Soul that she didn’t particularly want a couple of mercenaries to look at, even if they were mildly trustworthy. Shit. Maybe she <em>should</em> have told them to stay at a hotel.</p><p> </p><p>Oh, well. She wasn’t going to go back on her offer now. Not after Yasha had given such an expensive apology. Beau would have felt less bad about it if she didn’t need the money so much. But still, bad enough that she willingly got up at eight a.m the next day to drive to the Zadash International Airport.</p><p> </p><p>The actual name was the Julous Airport, but no-one ever called it that.</p><p> </p><p>Beau waited in the car, a mile-and-a-half away from the actual airport. She wasn’t so invested in this that she was willing to pay the eighteen-gold parking fee, when she could just wait for Yasha to text once they’d gotten through customs. Too late, she hoped that they had packed lightly, because the Moorbounder was decent, but it didn’t have a great deal of trunk space.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha had only a backpack, but Molly, for some reason, had brought a full suitcase. Beau was mildly alarmed. She had thought – and Yasha had told her – that they were only going to be in Zadash for a few days. When she questioned it, Molly rolled his eyes. He was wearing his trademark, eyebleedingly bright blazer.</p><p> </p><p>‘You think I’m going to come to the second biggest city in the Empire, and not take advantage of the nightlife? During the day, we can plan, sure, but at night, you are absolutely going to show me the best places to have fun.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I know a place,’ Beau said, brusquely. ‘I can drop you there right now.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Unpleasant one, I know you desperately want to fuck Yasha, but you know that dumping me on the side of the road is definitely not going to get you laid, right?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Only one way to find out,’ Beau muttered. She could feel a flush come over her, and she hoped that Yasha, sitting in the front seat, didn’t notice how red her cheeks were.</p><p> </p><p>‘Don’t mind him,’ Yasha said, without looking back. ‘He sometimes doesn’t bother reading social cues.’ Beau didn’t ask what that meant. She <em>couldn’t</em> ask what that meant…did that meant that Yasha <em>did</em> want to fuck Beau?</p><p> </p><p>Beau kept her eyes on the road, and didn’t dare let herself look over at Yasha.</p><p> </p><p>It was about a forty-five-minute drive back to her apartment, not accounting for traffic. At this time of morning, though, the peak hour was starting to ease, and even then, most of it was going in the opposite direction.</p><p> </p><p>‘I thought you said your parents were rich,’ Molly said – not derisively, oddly enough – when Beau led them into her apartment an hour or so later. They’d stopped off along the way to pick up a breakfast that wasn’t exorbitantly overpriced.</p><p> </p><p>‘They were, Beau said. ‘But I’m not.’ She didn’t bother to go into details about all the <em>other</em> stuff going on. What interested her, though, was that Yasha evidently hadn’t told Molly about the meeting with Reani. She wondered if Yasha had told Molly about accidentally interrupting Beau’s fight. Probably not. That was the sort of thing Molly probably would have made fun of her for.</p><p> </p><p>‘Huh,’ he said. ‘Is it weird I like you more, now?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau gave him a look. ‘What, I’m suddenly a better person because I live in a shit apartment?’</p><p> </p><p>Shit was…well it wasn’t entirely an exaggeration. The apartment was definitely small; just barely one-bedroomed instead of studio, but the bedroom didn’t have a door, so that was more of a semantics thing.</p><p> </p><p>‘Well, yeah.’ Beau rolled her eyes.</p><p> </p><p>‘Make yourself at home, I guess,’ she said. ‘If you guys want to share, you can have the bed. If not, I think I have an air mattress somewhere.’</p><p> </p><p>‘We would not want to put you on the floor,’ Yasha said, before Molly could make the rude comment that Beau knew he was dying to make. ‘Molly can have the couch, and I will sleep on the floor.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau couldn’t help but be a little disappointed. She dug around in the cupboard with her camping gear in it, and found the very old air mattress. Yasha stared at it.</p><p> </p><p>‘I…I am used to sleeping on rough ground,’ she said. ‘A mattress would actually make it harder.’ Right. That whole “ex-military” thing. So there probably wouldn’t be a lot of romantic dates in the honeymoon suite, eating strawberries off—<em>Alright, Beau, head out of the gutter.</em></p><p> </p><p>Yasha put her pack in the corner of the room, right by the door the very small balcony. She didn’t take anything out of the pack, and Beau knew without asking that Yasha was ready to leave at a moment’s notice. It was a curious sort of thing.</p><p> </p><p>‘So…let’s get started, I guess.’ Beau had dragged her desk (a cheap, plastic table that she’d found on the side of the road) into the middle of the room. On it, she’d put a map of Eiselcross and Northern Wildemount. that was made up of A4 pages taped together, and all the other research she’d done.</p><p> </p><p>They sat around the desk. Since Beau only had two chairs, Molly sat on the edge of his suitcase.</p><p> </p><p>‘Okay,’ Beau said. She grabbed her pen, and made an “X” on the map in the upper left hand corner. ‘To get to Eiselcross, we’d have to leave from Icehaven, or Palebank. Icehaven is marginally easier to get to from within the Empire, but even then, we’d probably be looking at charter flights. From there, there are a few different companies that sail to Eiselcross.’ She nodded to Yasha. ‘Like I said in my email, not of them are exactly cheap. All of them, though, go to Balenpost.’ She made another mark on the map. ‘Before we’ve even set foot on Eiselcross, we’re looking at seven thousand gold each, easily.’</p><p> </p><p>‘No problem,’ Yasha said, at the same time that Molly said, ‘Holy fuck.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau couldn’t help but grin. That was clearly another thing that Yasha hadn’t told him. She gave Yasha a look, and Yasha smiled. Beau turned away. ‘Anyway,’ Beau continued. ‘We’d land at Balenpost, but all the cool shit, all the artefacts, and treasures, and things worth a shit-ton of money, that’s all at the Aeor crash site, two-hundred miles north of Balenpost.’ She drew a third cross on the map. Molly stared.</p><p> </p><p>‘Alright,’ he said. ‘What’s the money-shot. What’s the bit you’re not telling us?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau pointed to the river between Balenpost and Aeor. It didn’t quite have the same effect, because the map wasn’t in color. ‘See that river?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Sure. What’s wrong with it? Full of snakes?’</p><p> </p><p>‘It’s called the River Inferno,’ Beau said. She kind of wanted to see if he could figure it out, because clearly Yasha hadn't told him. He gave an impatient sort of look, waiting for her to drop the mic. ‘It’s a river of lava.’</p><p> </p><p>Molly raised his hands in an exasperated sort of gesture. ‘Well that’s just fucking great,’ he said. ‘Yasha, are you <em>sure</em> you want to go to this place? Everything I’m hearing just tells me how really fucking crazy this idea is.’</p><p> </p><p>Now <em>that</em> surprised Beau. She’d sort of assumed that Molly and his “get-rich” attitude had been driving this one. Yasha…well, Yasha didn’t seem the sort to care much about money, or possessions. Why would <em>Yasha</em> of all people, wanted to go to Eiselcross?</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes, I want to go,’ Yasha said, automatically. She hadn’t even had to think about it. Molly, conversely, seemed almost exasperated by Yasha’s uncharacteristic enthusiasm.</p><p> </p><p>So they made lists. All the things that Beau had mentioned in her email to Yasha and more. This time, Beau included costs, and watched the amount of gold they were going to have to spend rack up very quickly. If they managed to find things there, though, it was a moot point. The artefacts coming out of Eiselcross were of the “sell and retire immediately” variety. Ten thousand gold to get there was pittance, assuming you didn’t mind the ridiculously high risk of dying.</p><p> </p><p>‘I don’t know about you guys,’ Beau said, ‘But I’m not exactly rolling in it at the moment.’ She gestured around at the large pile of books that didn’t have a bookshelf, and the way the cushions were poking through tears in the couch. ‘I got a couple of fights coming up that might bring in something, but it’s still gonna take a while to get the cash together.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau couldn’t help but think of the paper bag with four thousand gold (admittedly much lighter now) that Yasha had slipped into Beau’s pocket the last time they’d met. Exactly how much money did they make, as mercenaries? Was it a lucrative sort of thing? Shit, if they made thousands of gold on bodyguard duty for rich nerds, then Beau was really in the wrong business.</p><p> </p><p>‘We’ll cover your ticket to Eiselcross,’ Yasha said. Beau could not fail to notice the look of aghast horror that Molly shot her. Yasha ignored him. ‘I am the one that wanted to go on this expedition, so it is unfair for me to ask you to pay your way.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yasha, it’s not like I don’t want to come,’ Beau said. ‘Hell, it’s the sort of place I’ve been itching to go to for years, without really having an excuse. You don’t have to pay for me.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yes, Yasha, listen to the for once in her life, mildly-Pleasant One.’ It was the closest thing that Beau had ever gotten to a compliment from Molly. ‘We can’t afford to pay for her, too, regardless of how much coin this is going to get us.’ In a low voice that he didn’t even bother trying to hide, he said, ‘You know, we don’t <em>have</em> to take her.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I <em>want</em> her to come,’ Yasha said, in just as low a voice. Molly raised a surprisingly well-groomed eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>‘Why?’ Beau threw her pen at him. It was a fair question, though. Surely as mercenaries, they knew far more qualified people to take to a frozen nightmare island. But it was the principle of the thing. Disagree with everything that Molly said. Before she could tell him to shove it up his ass, her phone buzzed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Short notice fight tomorrow with Olveira. Interested?</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p><em>Yup</em>. Beau gave it barely a second of thought before texting back. She’d fought Olveira three times before, and smashed her each time. Even if it was a low buy-in, it was a quick way to get cash, assuming she didn’t get distracted by any more hot mercenaries.</p><p> </p><p>‘Got a fight tomorrow night,’ Beau said, putting her phone back in her pocket. ‘You don’t have to come if you don’t want to, but if you want to watch me kick the crap out of a chick, you’re welcome to.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Sporting event where there’s a non-zero chance I get to see you get punched in the face repeatedly?’ Molly asked. Beside him, Yasha winced. Clearly, that she <em>had</em> told Molly. ‘I am <em>there</em>.’</p><p> </p><p>Beau grinned. ‘Shove it up your ass, Molly,’ she said. It was a nice feeling.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>Beau took them out for dinner. Or, more accurately, she took them to a place, and they each paid their own way.</p><p> </p><p>‘I’m sorry.’ Beau sounded slightly sheepish. ‘It feels like a dick move, but I can barely afford to feed myself at the moment, let alone anyone else.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, that didn’t stop her from finding the cheapest bar she knew that wasn’t sleazy, afterwards. Being poor was one thing, but you were never too poor for one gold bucket margaritas. They had been through three of them, before Yasha put her foot down, and told both Beau and Molly that they had to start drinking some water.</p><p> </p><p>As though to reinforce that point, Yasha went to the bar to bring back said water. It was the first time she’d left the table all night, and even though she was a little bit drunk by this point, Beau had a very important question.</p><p> </p><p>‘Molly.’ Beau started shaking the tiefling in question by the shoulder. Okay, maybe she was more than a little drunk. ‘Mooooolly.’ Maybe very drunk.</p><p> </p><p>‘What do you want?’ Molly had apparently been making eyes at the bartender across the way, and didn’t appreciate being interrupted.</p><p> </p><p>‘Why does Yasha want to do this?’ she asked. The table was nice, and cool, and Beau didn’t really feel like lifting her head. ‘Why did she want to bring me?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Isn’t it obvious?’ Molly asked, clearly exasperated.</p><p> </p><p>‘What? No, of course it’s not fucking obvious!’ Beau gave him an indignant look. ‘Why the fuck do you think I asked?’</p><p> </p><p>He tutted slightly, but apparently did not feel the need to enlighten Beau. It was very frustrating.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha returned with two very large glasses of water, and what looked like a lemonade for herself. Beau took a long sip of the water. It was probably a good idea, given that she had a fight tomorrow. Ugh. Why did she agree to that?</p><p> </p><p>She remembered Eiselcross, then, and the ridiculous cost of getting there.</p><p> </p><p>‘Forget that question.’ Molly turned to Beau. ‘Why do <em>you </em>want to go? If you’re as poor as you claim—’ Beau snorted, ‘—then why go on this, frankly, incredibly dangerous and expensive adventure?’</p><p> </p><p>Beau couldn’t explain it.</p><p> </p><p>For one thing, she needed the distraction. If the stuff with her parents’ Estate was going to go on as long as it seemed like it would, and if things kept costing money, and if the Cobalt Soul kept sending her on shitty, unimportant missions, then…well, that wasn’t what Beau wanted. She wanted to be in the thick of it, finding the stuff that no-one had found before, filling in all the gaps of mysteries that history had left. If that meant going on a dangerous mission to the very heart of a vastly unexplored continent, then she was absolutely there for it.</p><p> </p><p>She shrugged. ‘Seems like a good way to pass the time.’</p><p> </p><p>Molly shook his head, and laughed. ‘You’re weird.’ Beau pushed him on the shoulder again.</p><p> </p><p>‘<em>You’re</em> weird.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey, I didn’t say it was a bad thing. Personally, weird is exactly where I thrive.’</p><p> </p><p>‘So why the fuck did you try and get rid of me?’ Beau muttered. She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but every time she saw Molly now, she was going to be thinking it. She was vaguely aware of a wide-eyed sort of look on Yasha’s face.</p><p> </p><p>‘You told her, huh?’ Molly sounded a little sad. ‘Well, I may have…in an ill-advised sort of manner, been trying to protect a very dear friend from getting hurt. But I’m starting to get the impression that I’ve actually done more harm than good.’</p><p> </p><p>What the fuck did <em>that</em> mean? Who was going to get hurt from Beau being there? She was pretty sure that Yasha could take her out without even flinching. ‘Y’re so fucking weird.’ Beau’s words were muffled by the cold table in her face. Gods, it was a really nice place to just….</p><p> </p><p>Beau woke up in her own bed, with a roiling headache, and a pit of nausea in her stomach. It was eleven o’clock, and she had told Dairon that she would be at the gym by twelve, for some last-minute business and training. Hopefully having gotten mind-numbingly drunk the previous night wasn’t going to affect her weigh-in too much. Water (or liquor) weight was always funny like that.</p><p> </p><p>Molly was passed out on the couch, and Yasha…well, Yasha looked better than any of them. She had been drinking far less, and could clearly handle her alcohol much better anyway. She was sitting on one end of the couch with Molly’s feet in her lap while she read one of the books from Beau’s stack. She started when she realized that Beau was standing there, and Beau didn’t blame her. The book that’d she’d chosen was a very, very filthy one. ‘I, ah…did not think that this would be your style.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Didn’t think it would be <em>your</em> style,’ Beau countered. Yasha’s pale skin suddenly looked almost sunburned. She shut the book very quickly. At any other time, Beau might have made a comment about demonstrating some things later, but what Molly had said last night (at least the things she could remember about what Molly had said) were running through her mind.</p><p> </p><p>Fortunately, Molly chose that moment to very loudly announce that he was awake. Beau had the sneaking suspicion that he was intervening out of pity, but any graciousness she might have felt was immediately canceled out when he vomited over the carpet.</p><p> </p><p>‘You know what,’ Beau said. ‘You can clean that up.’</p><p> </p><p>Though Beau tried her best to hide it, Dairon had eyes sharper than a hawk. ‘Are you nervous?’ they asked, clearly misinterpreting the reason for Beau’s hangover.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t until Dairon mentioned it that Beau realizes she <em>was</em> nervous. Going out and getting blasted had done a little bit to quell some of that energy, but there was still a small part of her that was half expecting a repeat of the last fight.</p><p> </p><p>At least this time the chances of her getting surprised by someone unexpected walking through the door were lower. Molly and Yasha would be in the crowd, and Beau’s main problem would be from wanting to impress them than from being distracted by them.</p><p> </p><p>The afternoon went by frustratingly quickly.</p><p> </p><p>They went through some last-minute drills; nothing too strenuous, and really, mostly to work off all the nervous energy that Beau was carrying around. She only threw up once, and after that, felt much, much better.</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t long before she was once more ready to step into the ring.</p><p> </p><p>…</p><p>Molly bought popcorn.</p><p> </p><p>Yasha gave him a reproachful look, which he decided to ignore completely. He just happened to like popcorn. It wasn’t because he had any particular inclination to watch Beau get the shit kicked out of her. That was just an added bonus.</p><p> </p><p>The weird thing was, Yasha seemed nervous. As though she was afraid that something bad was going to happen. Fair play, the last time she’d been here, Beau <em>had</em> gotten the shit kicked out of her. The weird part was the fact that Yasha seemed to care so much.</p><p> </p><p>Okay, maybe that part wasn’t weird either. Molly kept a close eye on Yasha’s expression as Beau stepped out into the ring, wearing shorts and a crop top that showed off a very lithe, yet muscular sort of form. Yasha was transfixed.</p><p> </p><p>Molly found himself far more interested in Yasha’s reaction, than in the fight itself. He could tell what was happening just from the look on her face. When she looked happy, Beau was doing well, and when she looked worried, it meant that the tables had turned.</p><p> </p><p>It was weird. Molly knew, of course, that the main reason that Yasha wanted to go on this expedition was to…he guessed somehow make it up to Beau for what had happened in Shadycreek Run. He was beginning to suspect, though, that maybe it went a little deeper.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hey Yash,’ he said. There was no time like the present to find out.</p><p> </p><p>‘Mmm?’ Yasha didn’t turn her head from the ring. She was sort of on the edge of her seat, and from the smile on her face, good things were probably happening.</p><p> </p><p>‘Are you in love with Beau?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Of course.’ Yasha froze. She was just about to turn to look at Molly, when an “oooh” sound went through the crowd. Molly turned back to the ring just in time to see Beau pressing her opponent to the side of the cage, arm pinned behind her. The woman tapped, and the crowd started cheering. Molly turned back to look at Yasha, whose mouth was open in a sort of shock.</p><p> </p><p>‘Don’t worry,’ Molly grinned. ‘We can talk about it later.’</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Molly is the either the world's greatest, or the world's worst wingman.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Frozen Deep (Part Three)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">XVII – The Frozen Deep (Part Three)</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Rexxentrum was fucking freezing.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It wasn’t a good sign; if even <em>Rexxentrum</em> was cold, then the north, Eiselcross, was bound to be utterly unbearable. Beau had spent a ridiculous amount of money on thermals at a second-hand store, but even then, they were ill-fitting and had way too many holes.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But, that was what they had planned to do, and it would be foolish to back out now. Not after they had paid several thousand gold in deposits for both the charter flight, and the trip on the icebreaker.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly and Yasha, being much closer to Rexxentrum, had arrived a day earlier. They had discussed staying at a hostel to save on costs, but ultimately, given the amount of gear they had with them, it was safer to book even a shitty hotel room.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">But, since shitty places like that had rules on occupancy, Molly distracted the person at the front desk while Beau snuck in.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She just about managed to catch the tail end of the conversation, something about the little bottles of shampoo only being half full. ‘—you even <em>clean</em> this room before giving it to us? Me and my wife have a significant number of allergies, if we end up in the hospital—’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘The dust makes me sneeze,’ Yasha deadpanned from beside him. Beau couldn’t help but let out a snort. They were both terrible, terrible liars, but the distraction was enough that no-one bothered her as she went up to their room on the sixth floor. They might not have even cared anyway, but Molly had so clearly enjoyed being an asshole, that Beau was happy to let him have it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">In any case, he was grinning when he returned to the hotel room, half a dozen complimentary bottles of shampoo in his arms.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘I have no idea what you’re gonna do with that much shampoo.’ Beau gave Molly’s forehead a quizzical look. ‘Could you use it to clean your horns?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly snorted. ‘Only if I want my horns to start flaking,’ he said. ‘I have a very precise horn-care regimen, thank-you very much.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau had no doubt that it was probably much more involved than her own skincare routine. Once or twice a month, she remembered to moisturize, and occasionally, she had to clean the gunk out of the pump bottle for her face cleanser. To say she had more important things to think about would not be a stretch. Make-up was one of those things that she’d never really seen as important. She’d put in the minimum amount of effort on it for her parents’ funerals, but that had been out of spite as much as anything else.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly, on the other hand, seemed to have an omnipresent ring of dark eyeliner around his eyes that Beau had never actually noticed before. Yasha looked like she did, but Beau was pretty sure that was just the way Yasha looked.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Exhausted and starving, Beau dumped her pack in the corner of the room. She had a split lip and a sprained wrist from a fight two nights previously, in addition to a black eye that she could mostly cover up with sunglasses and everything was sort of starting to ache again. She hadn’t bothered wrapping her wrist, and now that was definitely feeling like a mistake.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘What the fuck happened?’ Molly asked, incredulous, when Beau finally took off her sunglasses. For as much as it definitely wasn’t a pretty sight, it had been much, much worse even yesterday.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Got punched in the face,’ Beau told him. Yasha was looking at her silently, with a strange expression that Beau couldn’t quite parse. ‘Still won, though. Submission by Kimura in the third, got fucking hammered afterwards.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘The only part of that I understood was the bit about you getting punched, and then getting drunk. Seems like it would be a great thing to replicate right now.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau grinned, and clenched her fists. ‘Sounds great. Let’s flip a coin to see who gets to punch first.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">For half a second, she though that Molly might give a scathing retort, but instead, he mirrored her expression, and clapped her on the shoulder. Beau wasn’t sure if she’d finally cracked the key to Positive Molly Interactions. It was weird how similar their communication styles actually were.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They had three packs to fill, and about five packs worth of equipment to go in it. Molly and Yasha were clearly more experienced at this sort of thing, so Beau let them take the lead on that front, while she sorted through her notes on Aeor, getting in as much last minute reading as she could. She didn’t think she’d get the chance once they got on that charter plane, even if she didn’t get motion sickness.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">From Balenpost to Aeor, it was roughly two hundred miles. On easy terrain, walking that would take well over a week, but from Beau’s research, she was pretty sure that they’d be able to hire some kind of vehicle in Balenpost. The biggest problem would be not letting themselves get sabotaged by all the other treasure-hunters that were seeking lost artefacts.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It was weird. It wasn’t as though they had any different, or any better information than any of these groups. It would have been one thing if Yasha and Molly had found some kind of treasure map leading to a hidden location. But no...instead, it had been “hey, there’s probably some cool historical shit here, want to go take a look”? Molly had been frustratingly smug when Beau had asked why they – and why Yasha specifically – had wanted her to come. Almost as though…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Nah. People didn’t really ask Beau to do things because they wanted her to come. Mostly, people asked because they needed her for something. Probably it was because she was the one person that they knew that knew about historical shit.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Still, Beau was at the point in her life where she would happily take people wanting her over not wanting her. Molly clearly still felt like a dick for how he’d treated her in Shadycreek Run, so Beau was happy to milk his guilt for all it was worth.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Tonight, that apparently meant making him go and get dinner. They’d done a pretty good job on the equipment, paring it down to a reasonably manageable load. Weapons had sadly taken precedence over the portable speaker that Beau had wanted to bring. Given that they had spent a lot of money on the weapons the previous day, and given some of the stories Beau had heard, she was perfectly happy for this to be a well-armed adventure. That didn’t mean she was going to not give Molly grief about it. ‘You mean I’d actually have to <em>talk</em> to you?’ she asked, in faux disgust.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Trust me, I’m as upset about it as you are.’ He gave her a grin and a very rude gesture on his way out the door, which Beau took to be affectionate. Yasha, at least, didn’t tell him off.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘If he didn’t like you, he wouldn’t bother being rude at all,’ she said, and Beau nodded. She sort of got it. She’d had a whole childhood of people saying one thing, and meaning another, but at least this way seemed to be working in her favor.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly returned with three enormous pizzas, and a hundred other things besides. Popcorn, and candy, and several packets of air-activated hand warmers, plus a very large bottle of cheap rum, and some cans of energy drinks. He had apparently just grabbed a basket, and picket up whatever took his fancy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘What, no drugs?’ Beau bit back a laugh. She was still reticent about Molly potentially telling her to just pack up and go home.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘I don’t know any dealers here,’ he said, sadly, shaking his head to get rid of some of the rain drops that had soaked his hair. ‘Plus, they apparently don’t let you take drugs on the plane anymore, which frankly, I find <em>very</em> rude.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau wasn’t entirely sure you were <em>ever</em> allowed to bring drugs on the plane, but she let it slide. If anything, the fact that he was apparently the kind of person that enjoyed a good toke (or more) was kind of comforting. ‘You should have said,’ she commented. ‘We could have gotten <em>fucked up</em> while you were in Zadash.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly looked mildly disappointed, but it was very rapidly replaced with joy, as he opened the first pizza box, and revealed the most horrifying concoction of toppings that Beau had ever seen in her life. Broccoli, pineapple and olives, were the first terrible, terrible things that Beau noticed, and it got worse from there. What kind of pizza restaurant even <em>had </em>bananas to put on pizza?</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The other two pizzas, thankfully, were much more palatable. Beau had asked for a mostly bacon pizza, while Yasha was apparently very into meat and fungi; there were three different kinds of each on her pizza, which wasn’t necessarily Beau’s thing, but it was ten times better than fucking <em>bananas</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly’s pizza, predictably, was the only one left unfinished. Beau watched as Molly took a very long swig from the bottle of rum. He tossed it over to Beau, when he was finished. She raised the bottle to him in a mock cheers, and downed a respectable amount. It tasted like paint thinner.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Fuck!’ Beau coughed her way through it. ‘Were they fucking out of Everclear?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Better buck up,’ Molly said. ‘Cheap booze is the best way to keep warm when it’s freezing outside.’ Beau didn’t know about the science behind that, but then, she’d admittedly never had to get drunk on cheap liquor. That had been the best part about growing up in a winery, of all the precious few things that had been good. Even the cheaper bottles that she’d stolen had been pretty top shelf stuff, even if the ale at the taverns had been less so.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha, surprisingly, seemed waved away the bottle when Beau passed it to her. ‘Suit yourself,’ Molly said, and snatched the bottle out of Beau’s hand. Or at least, he tried to. Beau pulled it back just in time. Molly sighed. ‘Beau, may I please have the rum?’ Beau threw it at him, and he caught it just before it hit the floor. ‘I paid for it,’ he muttered, but didn’t seem entirely upset.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau was filled with a strange warmth as she sunk back into her pillow. It was a warmth that she hadn’t quite felt before, and it took her a couple of seconds to place it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Is everything alright?’ Yasha was staring.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau started. She hadn’t even noticed. ‘Yeah. Why?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘You had a strange look on your face.’ The look had been contentment, but Beau wasn’t about to reveal that. Even though they were in a tiny hotel room in a shitty hotel in the biggest city in the Empire, surrounded by empty pizza boxes. Even though Molly had started going on about the time he’d stolen a pair of swords from the tomb of an emperor (a story that Beau was one hundred percent sure was bullshit, given that that particular emperor had demanded all of his tombs sealed away on volcanoes). Even though they were about to embark on a journey that could just as easy get them killed, as get them rich…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">This was the happiest Beau had ever been, and it was fucking ridiculous. She had all the things in the world that made her happy; friends, history, and the promise of adventure and adrenaline. Maybe she’d even get to punch a few things along the way. If they were lucky, they might even find something worth a bit of money, though if Beau was honest, that priority was a little further down her list than it once might have been. She needed the money, sure, but there were a lot of ways to get money.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Getting the shit kicked out of her had certainly done a pretty decent job. Dairon had even made some vague murmurings about moving up into a different league. The first – terrible – fight seemed to have been all but wiped from most peoples’ memories by all the successful ones that had followed.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘You guys do a lot of this sort of stuff, yeah?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘What sort of stuff?’ Molly asked, popping a handful of gummy bears into his mouth. ‘Almost get ourselves killed in the name of gold?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Sure.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Absolutely,’ he agreed. ‘Haven’t died yet. Actually, no, that’s not true, I did die once, but I got better.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It sounded like there was a story to that. Beau raised an eyebrow in askance, and Molly, ever the storyteller, indulged her.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘We were in...what was it, Issylra?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Just outside of Vasselheim,’ Yasha nodded.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Anyway, I upset one of the local cults, and long story short, they buried me alive.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau stared at him. ‘“Long story short”? You didn’t even give me the short story, you just gave me the fucking CliffNotes of the CliffNotes.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Fine,’ Molly sighed. ‘We were working security for a group of what we initially thought were very agreeable people called the Tombtakers—’ Beau was about to interject with disbelief that they ever could have possibly trusted a group called the “Tombtakers” ‘–Yes, I know, hindsight is twenty-twenty, that should have been a dead giveaway. Anyway, they got it into my head that I was somehow the reincarnation of their God, some idiot called “Nonagon,” and the only way to bring back Nonagon properly was to cleanse the body of its new soul, by hitting me over the head with a shovel, and pushing me into a hole.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘So what, you finally got out of there somehow, I guess.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘No, I died, and was miraculously reborn into the exact same body, at the exact same age.’ Beau threw a gummy bear at his head, and he somehow managed to catch it in his mouth. ‘Thanks. Anyway, Yasha killed them all, dug me up, and managed to punch my heart back into beating again.’ He gave Yasha a wink. ‘So I’ve been in her debt ever since.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘That is not how friendship works,’ Yasha said, in a deadpan sort of voice.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘So you’re saying if I saved you from mummies tomorrow, you wouldn’t feel obliged to save me the next time someone started shooting at us?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Even being your friend is an obligation,’ Beau commented, and Molly poked out a forked tongue. Yasha ignored the both of them.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘I would save you regardless of whether or not you saved me, because you are my best friend.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘I am utterly touched.’ Molly’s voice did have a slight mocking sort of tone to it, but Beau could tell that he was actually pretty sincere about his words. For a moment, she felt like she was intruding on something far deeper than any friendship – or relationship – she could ever possibly hope to forge with either of them. ‘One of us’ll probably have to save the kid, though.’ It took Beau a moment to realize that he was talking about her. There was probably three or four years difference in their ages, if that.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha gave Beau a look. ‘I think she’s perfectly capable of saving herself,’ she said, finally. From anyone else, Beau would have found the comment condescending, but from Yasha….well, it was a pretty nice compliment.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It was ridiculous that this single innocuous night in a shitty motel room with cheap, greasy pizza and two people that she barely knew was one of the best nights of her life. Maybe it was because merely having friends was something that her father had frowned upon when she’d lived in Kamordah, and at the Cobalt Soul, everyone found her abrasive enough that they didn’t bother. Maybe that was why it had taken her so long to get used to Molly’s strange, roasting sense of friendship, and the way Yasha very clearly cared deeply for people without ever actually verbally expressing it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She slept more soundly that night than she had in a long time, even though she was sharing a bed with a woman she had maybe not so small of a crush on, and a man who she was beginning to see as something of an annoying sibling. Beau wasn’t sure if that was what a relationship with a sibling was supposed to look like, on account of the fact that she’d never actually had one. At least not one that she’d known about.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Thankfully (somehow), Molly had insisted on taking the far side of the bed, leaving Yasha in the middle. If Beau had been a little less relaxed, a little more nervous, that thought might have had her in a cold sweat, but somehow, she endured. When she woke up the next morning with Yasha’s arm loosely hanging over her waist, though, Beau waited a little longer than was probably necessary before moving it so she could get up and pee. Molly, the little shit, gave her a wink.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘She really likes you, y’know,’ he said, when Beau had come back after washing her hands. ‘<em>Really</em> likes you.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau stared at him. Once upon a time, Beau would have just chalked it up to Molly trying to stir shit. Now, though…well he was still probably trying to stir shit, but he seemed to care a bit more for Beau’s well-being than before. ‘I think you’re probably reading into things a bit much,’ Beau scoffed, not letting herself dare to think that he might be telling the truth. People didn’t...well, she’d never been anyone’s first choice.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau was saved the awkwardness of having Molly try and convince her otherwise by the fact that Yasha woke up. She blinked owlishly at Beau and Molly, clearly at least somewhat aware that she had interrupted something. ‘Is everything alright?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Yeah, Molly’s just a little bit crazy,’ Beau commented, before Molly could say anything. He gave a resigned sort of shrug, and didn’t push the matter.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They took a taxi to the airport to meet Yasha’s friend. Beau wasn’t surprised by the fact that Yasha knew someone that was willing to take them to Icehaven. Even with the “friends” discount, though, it had still cost them a ridiculous amount of money.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Desmond was a bald man in his late thirties. He was wearing a dark blue jumpsuit, and seemed to have engine grease smeared across his face. He greeted both Molly and Yasha with a hug, and gave Beau a reasonably firm handshake.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Weather’s not too bad,’ he told them. ‘But visibility’s always a bit rough going into Icehaven, so we may have a rough landing.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau wasn’t sure whether it was his words that were responsible for the strangely ominous feeling in her chest as she stepped onto the plane. It was a tiny thing, barely big enough to even fit the three of them in the back. The rest of it was filled with crates of cargo. Molly had asked what was in them, and Desmond told him it was better if he didn’t know. Always a good sign.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It was a relief, in any case, to take off the heavy pack.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There were legitimate commercial companies that chartered flights to Icehaven, but given that both Molly and Yasha had bought guns in Rexxentrum, it was safer to do something a little under the radar. Well, safer in some ways, at least. There was still the slightest chance that those crates were filled with suude, or something, and they were going to get shot down by the Dwendalian Military for drug smuggling. Yasha and Molly seemed to trust Desmond, though, and fucking Ioun help her, Beau was starting to trust Yasha and Molly.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It occurred, suddenly to Beau, that this was the first time she’d set foot on a plane since her parents had died. Hitchhiking to Shadycreek Run had been much cheaper, but that wasn’t exactly an option this time. When she closed her eyes, she had the sudden flash of both her parents screaming as the plane went down, and a little boy with dark curly hair, and bright blue eyes, crying.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She clenched her fist, and put her head down between her knees. She’d never really stopped to imagine what the last moments of their life must have been like, knowing that they were probably going to die, and not being able to do anything about it. Maybe, though, if the oxygen had left the plane quickly enough, it was something that wouldn’t have been on their minds for very long.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘You afraid of flying?’ Molly asked, and Beau shook her head. She wasn’t, or at least, she hadn’t been. She was, on the other hand, kind of a mess in general, and hadn’t stopped to think that this might have triggered something in her. ‘Just ah…just an overactive imagination.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">As the plane took off, Beau kept her head between her knees. She was vaguely aware of the sound of someone shuffling to sit next to her, and a large hand resting between her shoulder blades. ‘Beau,’ Yasha said, in the soft, slow voice of hers. ‘Is there something I can do?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau shook her head again. ‘Just...I never even thought about what it might have been like for them.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘For your family?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau nodded. Yasha moved her hand in large, slow circles. It was…nice. Beau’s mind was too much of a mess to think of a better word. It was the sort of thing that her mother (her dead mother) had never really done for her, or if she had, it had been an attempt to mollify some other shitty thing. People didn’t….Beau wasn’t used to having people <em>care</em> about her.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That simple touch calmed Beau down enough that she could sort of push down her fear. The fear that she didn’t even know she’d had until she’d gotten onto the plane. Throughout the whole panic attack, Molly had said nothing, apart from his first question. The look on his face...Beau wasn’t sure if it was pity, but he definitely wasn’t planning on making fun of it, that much was certain. Instead, he handed Beau his water bottle, and said, ‘Big sips. I always get dehydrated when I fly.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Part of that might have been the fact that he was hungover, but Beau didn’t say anything. He had earned her not being an asshole for once.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">After that, things went slightly more smoothly. At least for a while.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">True to Desmond’s word, it started off a little bumpy. Once or twice, Beau whacked her head on the window, when the plane dropped ten feet suddenly. Molly’s water bottle spilled all over the cargo hold, soaking Beau’s jacket. She took it off, rather than deal with the icy blasts of wind against her wet jacket making her even colder.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly raised an eyebrow at the tank-top she was wearing underneath. That, he was apparently perfectly willing to make fun of her for. ‘Why the hells would you want to wear a tank-top to somewhere it’s going to be snowing literally one hundred percent of the time.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘So everyone can see my sick guns,’ Beau replied, blithely. She wasn’t sure if it was her imagination, but Yasha seemed to stiffen slightly at her words. The truth was – and she was never going to admit it to Molly<em> or</em> Yasha – was that she didn’t really own many tops that<em> had</em> sleeves. All her thermals were stuffed somewhere in her pack.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They were about an hour out from Icehaven, according to Desmond, when things started getting a little hairy. ‘Snow storm out of nowhere!’ he yelled backwards at them. ‘Hold onto something.’ Beau resisted the temptation to just hold onto Yasha, instead taking a very tight hold on one of the straps that hung from the ceiling. She was starting to think that perhaps it might have been a good idea for them to have chartered a plane with seat-belts.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That was the thought that was going through her head about the time one of the engines exploded.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Brace yourselves!’ Desmond yelled, and in the moment that the plane started going down Beau wondered if this was the same way her parents’ plane had gone down.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Being that it is a flashback chapter, I am beholden by the things that I said happened in the non-flashback chapters. So...yeah.</p><p>Fun fact, this is the first thing I've ever written that's gone over 100,000 words.</p><p>I kind of love the Molly&amp;Beau&amp;Yasha dynamic way too much, and I'm sad we never really saw more of it.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. The Frozen Deep (Part Four)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">XVIII – The Frozen Deep (Part Four )</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha Nydoorin found herself lying face down in the snow.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Hmm.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That probably wasn’t good.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There was a burning pain in her side, which was arguably just as bad. The last thing she remembered was the plane going down into a tailspin, and Desmond just barely managing to bring them right before they impacted with the ground.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Things were a little fuzzy after that.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha opened her eyes. She could see blinding white, interspersed with flaming wreckage. On the whole, not a great sign.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Yasha!’ She could barely hear her name through ringing ears. Whose voice was that? Was that Molly’s voice? Who else was there? There had been Molly, and Desmond, and...someone else. Someone that made Yasha’s heart flutter, and her stomach drop. Who…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beauregard.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha jerked to a sitting position, and regretted it. The burning pain spread, and she cried out in agony. She looked down and could see dark blood spreading from a wound in her stomach, that looked like it had been made by shrapnel.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Yasha!’ The voice came again. Yasha looked over and saw a bloodied, torn-up looking Molly rushing towards her. His jacket was singed, and his horns had definitely seen better days. ‘Are you alright?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha stared past him, her eyes not quite able to focus. ‘I think so,’ she said. The wound in her gut was nothing. She’d had much worse even just from shrapnel. Definitely worse from bullets and knives, and all kinds of other things. ‘Where is Beauregard?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly shook his head. ‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I came to over there.’ He gestured towards some flaming crates. ‘I think we might’ve gotten thrown.’ Yasha had the vaguest recollection of the plane splitting in half on the way down. There was a flash of memory in her mind, of a pair of terrified blue eyes, as Beau’s fingers slipped through her grasp.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<em>Fuck!</em>’ Yasha got to her feet, ignoring that agonizing pain. Already, she was starting to shiver, and she was at least dressed for the cold. Beau had not been.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha looked around, and was surprised to see that her pack had landed very close. They would need it, if they wanted to survive here. Wherever here was.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">They had been a little way out of Icehaven when they’d gone down, which was still many miles from any kind of civilization. Not that Yasha would have gone as far as to call Icehaven civilization. But, if Desmond had survived, then he would hopefully have been able to call for help. If not, well...then there were things that would have to be done. But the first order of business…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘They would have been in the front of the plane,’ Yasha said, and she wasn’t sure whether or not she was comforted by that thought. The front of the plane would surely have nosedived, would surely be the largest of the plumes of smoke she could see littered around her.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The majority of those plumes seemed to be to the east. East wasn’t great. That put them further away from Icehaven, but that really didn’t seem to matter much right now. What was important was finding Desmond and Beauregard, and making sure they were alright.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"><em>They had to be dead, they couldn’t possibly have survived that</em>. Dark thoughts pushed through Yasha’s mind, crushing any sense of optimism she might have had.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Surprisingly, her gun had made it through the crash unscathed. It hadn’t even gone off, which was a near miracle. The shrapnel was bad enough without having to deal with accidental gunshot wounds.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Come on,’ Yasha told Molly, who hesitated. ‘When has going <em>towards </em>the flaming wreckage ever been a good idea?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha ignored him and started striding forwards towards the plume. She heard a sigh from behind her, and Molly scurrying to follow. He, too, had his pack, which was another stroke of good luck. He had most of the food, she thought.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Though the smoke was not far, it seemed to take forever to get there. In reality, it was probably only a couple of minutes, but they seemed to stretch on into hours.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The sound of an unearthly roar sent adrenaline spiking through Yasha’s system. It was followed almost immediately by a yell that sounded suspiciously like Beau.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">If Yasha had been running before, she was sprinting now. The pain of her own injuries was a secondary concern to the fact that Beau was in danger. Not from fire, or debris, or anything like that, but from the local wildlife, which, if the rumors that Yasha had heard were correct, was none too friendly.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Half a second later, they burst through the trees into what could generously be called a clearing. Beau was standing (that was good), wielding an enormous tree branch (that was strange) and staring down a twelve-foot tall yeti (decidedly bad). Her whole body shivered, even as she yelled at the creature, as though hoping to scare it away. Desmond was standing to the side, ineffectually holding a much smaller stick.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Beau!’ Yasha called out, and regretted it almost instantly. The moment Beau turned to look backwards at the sound of her name, the yeti had swiped with one of its claws, grabbing Beau’s legs, and hoisting her into the air. Beau yelled, and tried to whack at it with the branch, but the yeti snapped it like a twig.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"><em>No, no, no</em>.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha leveled her gun at the yeti. If she shot it, and it died, then Beauregard would drop to the ground. But, given that they had just survived a plane crash, and the alternative was being gored by a yeti, then it was a risk that Yasha would reluctantly take. She fired twice, the first bullet striking the yeti in its furry white chest, the second going wide, and slamming into a tree. The yeti howled in agony, and thrashed about, but did not drop its prey.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beside her, Molly was also firing. Between them, they let off almost a dozen shots, before finally the yeti’s fur was more red than white, and it dropped to the ground, Beau with it. Yasha ran to her side.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She was just barely conscious, a series of claw marks across her stomach, and a leg that looked like it might have been broken. Her arms were bared to the biting cold, and Yasha vaguely recalled that she had taken her jacket off before they’d crashed. It was nowhere in sight.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Ow,’ Beau said, weakly, but the fact that she was able to speak was a good sign.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘You just got your ass handed to you by a yeti,’ Molly said, almost laughing in disbelief.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Wasn’t on my to-do list,’ Beau muttered. She closed her eyes, her body still shivering. Yasha dove for her pack, and found her jacket. It was leather, and fur-lined, not as good as down parka, but better than nothing while they got a fire going. ‘Good thing I had a beautiful woman and an objectively okay tiefling to save my ass.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Molly laughed again, and this time, he seemed genuinely pleased. 'Objectively okay,' he said. 'You know what, I'll take it.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The good news was, there was no shortage of fire. Luckily, they were far enough away from the front section of the plane that they weren’t likely to suddenly get caught in an explosion. In any case, Molly and Desmond got started on the fire, while Yasha helped Beau put her arms through the sleeves of the jacket, and zipped it up. Then, she found her spare mittens and beanie and scarf, and helped put them on too. Beau’s lower half, at least, seemed adequately warm, which was good, because Yasha didn’t want to mess with that broken leg too much. The wounds at her stomach were quite shallow, Yasha realized; the yeti had gotten cloth more than he had gotten skin. Even still, there was a round of general first aid as they all patched up their wounds. Somehow, none of them were particularly life threatening. The worst of it was probably Beau’s leg, but even that mostly just meant that their mobility was hampered.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Can’t believe I finally got you to give me your jacket,’ Beau grinned. She seemed to be regaining some energy. At least enough that her words had a renewed flirtatious energy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘You can keep it,’ Yasha said, softly. There were so many bad memories associated with that jacket that at the very least she could use it to make some good ones. Maybe not the way she would have liked Beau to be wearing her clothes, but at this point, she would take it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Dope,’ Beau muttered. ‘But you know, I’m still feeling a little cold. I might need someone to give me some body heat?’ She opened her eyes wide, and gave Yasha a very suggestive look.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Ugh, get a room,’ Molly said, rolling his eyes.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha stared him down, as she got out her tent, and proceeded to put it up. He of course, had not meant it literally, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to give him shit for it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘You’re more than welcome to go somewhere else,’ Yasha told him, in a challenging sort of voice, as she helped Beau inside the tent. They had two tents. Molly could bunk with Desmond. She tucked herself in beside Beau, in a way that hopefully didn’t aggravate the leg too much, and pulled the sleeping bag up around them. Thankfully, Beau had not been out in the cold for too long. As long as she got warm quickly, she would be okay. Or at least as okay as was possible in their present circumstances.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Is this really all I had to do to get you to sleep with me?’ Beau asked. Yasha felt herself stiffen. Beau was clearly not entirely with it. ‘Get into a plane crash, break my leg, almost get killed by a yeti, and then succumb to hypothermia? If I’d known it was that easy, I would have done it in Molaesmyr.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘We walked into Molaesmyr,’ Yasha said, matter-of-factly.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Hmm.’ Beau frowned. ‘Well, I could have at least done the yeti thing. Are there yetis in the Savalirwood?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Would you have choked it out if you had a chance?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha had intended the question as a joke, but Beau pretended to consider the matter. ‘Tough on a bigger opponent. Especially with a neck that size. The hard part would be taking the back, but once I’m there, I’m pretty sure claw attacks aren’t a competition-legal move.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Somehow, I do not think that that is going to be of concern when fighting for your life.' Yasha did not dare even think of voicing her thoughts. Of voicing the fact that she very, very much hoped that Beau did not have to wrestle a yeti, because she did not think she could handle the stress. The fact that the very idea of Beau being in danger made her heart race, and her skin go clammy. The fact that the very idea of <em>Beau </em>made her heart race, and her skin go clammy.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">It wasn't that she didn't think that Beau was interested. In fact, if there was one thing that Beau had been abundantly clear about, it was her attraction to Yasha. This was hardly the time to address it, though. In another world, perhaps, a more confident, less broken Yasha would have been smooth and suave, and asked Beau if she could kiss her, but that wasn't this Yasha.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">This Yasha was only concerned about keeping Beau alive, about making sure that she didn't die of hypothermia in a tent in the middle of the wilderness a couple of hundred miles from Icehaven.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The good news was, Beau seemed to be gaining more and more awareness of the situation. She pulled back the sleeping bag and unzipped her jacket to check on her bandages. There was a little bit of blood seeping through, but not too much. 'It's not numb anymore,' Beau said. 'Which is probably a good thing.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Does it hurt?' Yasha asked. 'I have painkillers in my bag if you need them.' They weren't very strong painkillers, admittedly. At least not the ones that were only used for dealing with pain. She had some propriety stuff in her own kit that would let you run a marathon with half your guts hanging out. Definitely not legal in the Empire, and probably not in many other places, either. Some of the soldiers that Yasha had met nicknamed it “Rage.” The problem with Rage, was that the moment it wore off, you were at a not-insignificant risk of having a heart attack. So Yasha didn't like to use it much, and she certainly wasn't going to give it to Beau.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Just a bit itchy,' Beau said. She zipped the jacket back up, and scooted back under the covers. 'Leg is probably worse, but that's just more of a throb. I'd rather wait, in case we get stuck here for a while.' She bit her lip. 'You know, there are some other naturally occurring endorphins that are really good painkillers?'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha frowned. She had a general knowledge of natural medicine, of course, but she couldn't quite figure out what—<em>Oh. </em>The suddenly salacious look on Beau's face now made sense.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'I don't...' Yasha started, stuttering. 'I'm not...I don't want to hurt you, Beauregard.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'I mean, ship's already sailed on that front,' Beau said, rolling her eyes. Yasha's heart dropped slightly. 'On being hurt in general,' Beau added, quickly, clearly noticing the look. She gestured to her leg. 'I don't think you could do that much more damage.' A warmth that had nothing to do with the sleeping bag spread through Yasha, pooling in one very specific area.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">She very much wanted....Well, she wanted lots of things. But this wasn't the time. 'Maybe next time,' Yasha said, and Beau gave a yawning grin.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'I'll hold you to that,' she muttered. 'Shit. When did I get so fucking tired?' The exhaustion seemed to have hit her suddenly, which wasn't unusual. It was definitely something that Yasha wanted to keep an eye on, though.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘Save it for when we get home alive,’ Yasha whispered. There was no answer, and she realized, then, that Beau had fallen asleep. Her breathing was normal, at least, and when Yasha put a hand to her cheek, it was warm. She lay there for a while, just to keep and eye on things, and had to resist the urge to hold Beau's hand while she slept.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">After an hour or so, Yasha was satisfied that Beau was more than likely going to be okay. She crawled out of the sleeping bag, and went back out to the fire, where Molly was feeding it kindling. What had been a blizzard when they crashed had calmed to a mere flurry. ‘Desmond’s trying to fix the radio,’ he said, indicating his head over towards the smoldering fuselage, where Desmond was fiddling with some tech. ‘Says he just managed to get a distress signal off. So, we might be okay, but we were a little off course due to the weather.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The mere fact that they had all survived the crash without significant injury was a near miracle. A single broken bone, and a few minor scratches was definitely close to their best case scenario. ‘That’s good,’ Yasha said. There was a long pause. ‘I do not think we will be making it to Eiselcross this time, for some reason.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘How does that make you feel?’ Molly asked. He had an annoyingly smug look on his face. ‘All that chance of treasure, lost…’ He looked back over at the tent, where Beau was hopefully fast asleep. ‘Do you think she’ll be upset?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘I don’t know,’ Yasha admitted. ‘What do you think?’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘What do I think? I think that she came on this trip because you asked her to.’ Yasha felt a roiling pain in her chest. ‘Oh, no. Not like that, Yash. I don’t mean that you should feel guilty for bringing her or anything.’ Molly got up, and came to sit by Yasha’s side. He put a warm, gloved hand to her shoulder. ‘I just mean...I’m pretty sure she cares about you as much as you care about her.’</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha didn’t know about that. Of course Beau had come on the trip, but Beau was also someone that was very interested in history, and from what Yasha had learned, Eiselcross was practically the dream destination for any archaeologist worth their salt.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'I've got an idea,' Molly said, and he pulled a large bag of marshmallows out of his pack. Yasha gave him a look. She was fairly sure that marshmallows hadn't been on their carefully curated list of supplies, nor was the whiskey in the flask that he pulled out from a side pocket. Yasha wasn't going to complain. In these circumstances, they were a welcome comfort.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Radio's busted,' Desmond announced, ten minutes later, when he came to sit with them. He took a long, appreciative swig from the flask when Molly handed it to him. 'I did get a call off, but I'm not sure if we'd already lost comms at that point.' He gave a helpless sort of shrug. 'The good news is, they can just follow the fire.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That was good news. The other good news was that because they were prepared for a long trip through treacherous conditions, even though Beau had lost her pack, there were still plenty of provisions to last them until help arrived.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The only thing to do was wait.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Well, watch and wait. If there was one yeti out there, then chances were, there would be more. They had weapons, and they had ammo. All told, the situation could have been much worse.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">This far north, at this time of year, it got dark quickly. 'I think we should keep watch,' Yasha said, and neither Molly nor Desmond disagreed. Molly volunteered to take the first one. They didn't have enough people to watch in pairs, even if Beau hadn't been out of commission, but there was a large piece of fuselage that he promised to hit really hard if anything came snooping.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha crawled back into the tent. She could hear Beau shifting around. 'Hey,' Beau said. 'What time is it?'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'A little after seven,' Yasha told her. Molly had agreed to wake her at midnight, for second watch. She climbed back in under the sleeping bag next to Beau, and tried not to feel too happy about it. 'How are you feeling.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Good,' Beau yawned. 'Sore, but you know...that's to be expected. Given the fiery plane crash.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Yes,' Yasha deadpanned. 'That was sub-optimal.' There was a long pause. 'We will probably not make it to Eiselcross,' she said. 'I'm sorry, I know you were interested in what you might find there.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau did not seem surprised, but nor did she seem overly concerned. 'Ah, well. Would have been nice.' She chuckled. 'I'll be honest, though, I mostly just needed the distraction. From...you know everything else that's going on.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Right.' Yasha had almost forgotten about that meeting that she had sat in on. 'Have there been any updates?'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Nah, but you remember what Reani said. These things take ages. I'd rather just forget about it and worry about other things.' She gestured towards the tent around them, and Yasha got what she meant. Being lost in the wilderness was a very reasonable thing to be concerned about. 'Kind of need a distraction from that, though, too.' Yasha knew exactly what Beau was driving at, and also knew that this absolutely was not the right time.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Tell me about...' Yasha's mind suddenly went blank. 'Tell me about some of the things you are studying.' It was very clearly a brush-off, and Beau recognized it as such, but that didn't stop her from immediately launching into a (frankly, quite interesting) explanation about druidic script, and an ancient burial site called Shadebarrow. Though Yasha had never doubted it, Beau was clearly very intelligent, and had a wondrous curiosity about the world that gave Yasha a strange feeling in her stomach, just to listen to it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'But then some crazy old dude bought the land so he could like...put his own tomb there,' Beau was saying. 'All these historians were fucking furious, it was hilarious. Talking about how it was desecration of an ancient cultural site, and he'd be destroying thousands of years of druidic history just so he could be an eccentric weirdo.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Yasha gave an appreciative sort of laugh. 'What do you think?' she asked.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Well...' Beau hesitated. 'It's a shitty thing to do, don't get me wrong, but if it gets more people talking about history, and what we can learn from extinct cultures, then there's at least something good that came out of it.' There was a long pause. 'Besides, we were <em>absolutely </em>planning on making money from shit we found in Eiselcross, so it'd be kind of hypocritical of me to judge him too much.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'There's a difference between making money from something and destroying it,' Yasha pointed out. Beau considered the point for a long time. Yasha didn't really have that much of an opinion on the matter. She had been a mercenary for long enough that there no doubt were historical sites that she had participated in the destruction of, even unintentionally. It was not until she'd met Beau had she ever really considered the potential ramifications of it.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'I try not to destroy the things that I go looking for,' Beau said, eventually. 'And I mean, I'd love to say that I go out of my way to make sure that things go back to the cultures that they're from, and not just sit on a museum shelf gathering dust for however many years, but the truth is, I don't really have that kind of influence just yet. Maybe I never will.' There was something strange in her voice.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Is that what you wanted to look for in Eiselcross?' Yasha asked. 'Influence?'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'I dunno.' Beau shrugged, and Yasha had to force herself not to stiffen as Beau's shoulder brushed against her arm. 'Maybe not influence. Maybe credibility is the right word. I found that skull back in Molaesmyr, and they still kinda just think I'm some shit-kicking teenage delinquent, like finding it was a fluke.' Finding it <em>had</em> been an accident, Yasha remembered. Perhaps if they'd told the Soul about <em>everything </em>that they had found, Beauregard would have been held in higher...well, regard. 'So what about you?' she asked, after another long stretch of silence.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'I don't really like talking about myself,' Yasha said, before she'd even really thought about it. She <em>didn't</em> like talking about herself, but for some reason, talking with Beau felt different. Beau...Beau wouldn't judge her.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Oh, for sure, I get that,' Beau nodded. 'But like...' She seemed to hesitate, then. 'You told me about what happened when your tribe found out that you were married. I'm assuming a few things happened between that, and moving to Shadycreek Run.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'I...yes. Though I don't really remember much of it,' Yasha admitted. 'I try not to think about that part of my life.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'Do you think about the future?'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">The answer was honestly “no.” For the moment, Yasha was, if not content, then comfortable the way things were going. Taking jobs with Molly, and seeing them through. One day, she was sure that would all change, but for the moment...For the longest time. Yasha had moved through the world mindlessly. Meeting Molly had given her purpose, even if it was a very basic purpose. Meeting Beau...</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'For a very long time, I was sure I wouldn't have a future,' was what she actually said.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Beau chuckled. 'I can definitely relate to that,' she said. Silence fell between them, but it was a strangely comfortable silence. Yasha found that unlike many other people she had met, Beau didn't seem to mind when Yasha didn't talk.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'You...' Yasha started, and then her nerve failed her. 'You are a very compelling person, Beauregard,' she said. Yasha wasn't sure whether or not it was her imagination that Beau seemed almost disappointed.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">'That's probably one of the nicer compliments I've been given.' Beau laughed. It was a strained sort of laugh, as though she was trying to cover for something else. 'Usually it's “petulant” or “disrespectful” or “lazy,” so I will absolutely take compelling.'</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">There were so many other things that Yasha could have said, that she wanted to say, and yet once she said them, the nature of their relationship would change entirely. As much as she wanted that to happen, this was not the time, or the place.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Instead of any of that, she said, 'Goodnight, Beauregard,' and if Yasha pressed a soft kiss to the other woman's forehead once she had fallen back asleep, then nobody would ever know.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Oh hey I'm still here.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. The Frozen Deep (Part Five)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">XIX – The Frozen Deep (Part Five)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau woke, and for a moment, she'd forgotten what had happened. All things told, it was a pretty nice wake-up call. She was warm, reasonably comfortable, and there was almost definitely someone curled into her.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Then, she felt the sudden sharp pain of what was unmistakably a broken bone, and the rest of it came back. The crash, the fucking cold, and the godsdamned yeti. The leg...well, it didn't feel <em>terrible</em>. Sadly, if there was one thing in life that Beau was used to, it was injury.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She'd broken more bones than was probably healthy during her fighting career, but the first time Beau had ever broken a bone, was when she was six years old, and she'd been climbing a tree in the grounds of her parents' estate.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It hadn't been an enormous tree – maybe about thirty or forty feet high – and it had been on the very edges of the Estate, right about where it began to bleed into the dark, twisted woods that covered that part of the Cyrios Mountains on the way up to Mount Mentiri. A dozen times, a hundred times, Beau had been told not to wander, but she had gotten very bored with her studies, which were not very interesting at all. Father had insisted that she start learning about agriculture, more specifically agriculture in a place like Kamordah, which was unlike anywhere else in Exandria. Difficult, considering that Beau couldn't even <em>pronounce</em> the word “agriculture,” let alone get excited about things like acid levels in the soil.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Mount Mentiri, her tutor told her, was a dangerous place, but that only made it more intriguing.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau had climbed the tree to get a better look out to the rest of the forest, but she guessed she must have slipped on some rotting wood, because the next thing she knew, she had fallen to the ground, her arm cracking beneath her.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The scream had sent nearby birds scattering to the skies.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Bloody, bruised and broken, a mud- and tear-streaked Beauregard had hobbled her way back to the house.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Her father had spent well over an hour trying to find a halfling worker that wasn't too busy to take her to the hospital, meanwhile Beau spent the entire time sobbing in the sitting room, after being told off for wailing (and for getting mud everywhere).</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Finally, she'd made it to the hospital, where they put in half a dozen pins into her arm, and told her that she was very brave. There wasn't much that Beau remembered from that day, but she did remember that the X-Ray technician had given her a lollipop. That, and her father had very nearly given her a beating after she'd gotten home, because she'd been running amok.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">This was much nicer.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">For one thing, though it took Beau several moments to notice, there was very clearly an arm that was loosely resting across her waist. She had the vaguest recollection of shooting some very clear signals in Yasha's direction and getting very soundly rebuffed. But, Yasha was still there, either not taking Beau's advances seriously, or not considering them enough of a reason to go sleep in Molly's tent.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Either option was frankly, a good sign, and admittedly, something that Beau wasn't entirely familiar with. She wasn't used to...well, she wasn't used to people sticking around, <em>wanting</em> to spend time with her. When she'd left them in Shadycreek Run, she had assumed that it had just gone the same way that every single other relationship in her life had gone.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">But no. For some utterly ridiculous reason, they wanted her to stay. More than that, they had specifically sought her out. It would have been so easy to just let her get torn apart by a yeti if they'd really wanted to, and yet they hadn't.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It was a nice feeling. A feeling that Beau wouldn't mind having more of.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She was almost disappointed when she felt Yasha stir. Broken leg aside, it would have been nice to just lie there for a little while longer, appreciating the fact that for the first time in so long, she was maybe technically sharing a bed with someone. Admittedly, it was a sleeping bag, more than a bed, and they were in a tent in the middle of the wilderness after a plane crash, but that was all just semantics, really.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'How are you feeling?' Yasha asked. Though her voice sounded bleary, she was smiling, and Beau couldn't help but reciprocate. If she had that face to wake up to every morning, then remembering to smile would never be an issue.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Not too bad,' Beau told her. 'Little sore, but you did such a good job splinting that it hasn't really shifted too much.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It took a little (okay a lot) of help from Yasha for Beau to hobble out to the fire, and sit down on the large log that had been dragged over for exactly that purpose. She definitely wouldn't be running any marathons on the leg, but she could last a little while longer. It didn't seem like too bad of a break, considering she'd got it from getting flung from the burning wreckage of an aeroplane.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She tried not to think about her parents, and her brother. She didn't know if they'd died instantly, or if they'd burned to death in flames and debris, or any of that. She hadn't read the investigation report, and now she was certain that she never would.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"><em>Don't</em> <em>think about any of that, </em>she told herself. <em>Push it all away.</em> If there was one thing that Beau was good at, it was pushing things away. Her feelings were scarcely more important than anyone else's. <em>That</em> was another one of those things that Beau <em>really</em> didn't want to unpack just yet. She would much rather let herself be distracted by everything else that was going on. The good news was, there were plenty of distractions to be had, even when there wasn't a beautiful woman pressed up against her.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Even still, Yasha was very, very close to Beau as they sat around a fire that had been kept up through the night. Beau had apparently slept through all the watches, and then some. 'So, where are we at? No sign of rescue planes overhead?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The weather had calmed down considerably, but the days still seemed overcast. The weak, winter sun was just barely peeking through the clouds. Beau didn't know enough about aviation to know whether any potential rescue mission would have trouble.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Hard to say,' Desmond told her. 'The bigger problem will be the fact that we were off course. Bigger area to cover. But that smoke should definitely help.' He had piled the fire high with the greenest branches he could find. Difficult in a deciduous forest, but enough that the smoke emanating from the fire was heavy. They all sat far enough away from the fire so as not to break out in coughing fits.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Breakfast?' Molly asked, just as Beau felt a strong rumble in her stomach. Molly did have an unnervingly good habit at picking up on things.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">They had a bunch of freeze-dried meals that were easy enough to put together. Molly boiled some water over the fire, and they made up a few of them. Until the smell of what was apparently sausage and eggs wafted over towards her, Beau hadn't realized just how hungry she was. She was pretty sure she hadn't eaten since before the crash.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The food was...well, freeze-dried food had never been particularly palatable. The sausage tasted like rubber, and the eggs also tasted like rubber. Somehow, though, Beau managed to eat a whole bag of it. Molly stared at the empty packaging. 'This says “serves four,” he told her, and she gave him the finger.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'They missed a word,' she said, drily. 'It's supposed to have “Beau” at the end. Serves for Beau.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Molly stared. 'Wow. That was a Yasha level of terrible joke.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I'm funny,' Yasha insisted, doing a very bad job at pretending to be hurt by Molly's comment. Yasha <em>was</em> pretty funny, whether she intended to be or not. More than once, she had made a very dry, comment that was borderline intimidating, only to reveal a second later that she had been joking.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'<em>I </em>think you're funny,' Beau said, and Yasha gave a very soft, toothy smile. She put her hand on Beau's good leg, and squeezed it lightly. Beau's heart skipped a beat. If Molly and Desmond hadn't been there, she might have gone for it.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It was near midday when Beau heard the sound. They'd kept the fire burning as long as possible, and Molly had gone around to light a few more. The smoke alone, would have been visible for a pretty good distance, assuming he didn't accidentally burn the whole forest down.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The whirring was faint at first, and it took Beau a few minutes to figure out where it was coming from, as it got louder all the while.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Yasha, look.' Beau grinned, nudging a lightly dozing Yasha on the shoulder. She pointed up to where there was a plane, coming in from a distance.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Things moved very slowly, and then very quickly. The plane had spotted them, there was no doubt about that. It did two very low circles, and then left. Beau was slightly perturbed until she had a chance to think about it. It wasn't as though there were runways in the middle of snowy forests. An hour or so after that, the helicopter arrived.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Desmond was clearly not particularly happy to leave his cargo behind, and <em>that</em> was a problem that Beau absolutely did not want to deal with.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Don't worry,' Desmond told them. 'I'll take care of it.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The helicopter took them to a small town about an hour or so away. Yrossa, it was called, according to one of their rescuers, a man in a bright orange jumpsuit that was checking Beau's pulse. It only had one hospital, but the hospital, at least, had a helipad. There were half a dozen people in scrubs waiting to look them over.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The search and rescue team had dealt with any immediate wounds, but Beau still found herself being loaded onto a stretcher. Apparently a broken leg wasn't something that she could just walk off.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Wait!' Yasha called out. She ran to Beau's side, clearly wanting to say goodbye before Beau was carted off by strangers, albeit strangers who would get her the medical treatment that she needed.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'They gotta go chop my leg off,' Beau said, in an off-hand sort of voice. She was maybe a little bit scared, even though she didn't know why. 'Could use something to get me through it. You know, a morale boost.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">There was a strange look in Yasha's eyes. Beau didn't know exactly what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn't for Yasha to lean in and kiss her on the lips. Beau froze. She had absolutely no response. Yasha pulled away. 'For luck,' she whispered, and before Beau could even process those words, she was being wheeled into the elevator.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Hey!' she yelled out, not sure whether or not Yasha could even hear her. 'Call me!'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau was taken for x-rays, and casts, and stitches. The cast was heavy and uncomfortable, but at the very least, she might be able to get Yasha to sign it. Of course, Yasha might have been willing to do more than just sign it. All those signals that Beau had dismissed has being her imagination...were they real, or was Yasha just mollifying her? (No pun intended). For some reason, Beau didn't think that Yasha was the sort of person that would do that. If she was going to kiss someone, it would be for a good reason. Still, there were plenty of people in the world that had kissed Beau, only to leave her out in the dark.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The doctors told Beau in no uncertain terms that they would be keeping her overnight for observation, and for once in her life, Beau didn't argue. This was helped, of course, by the fact that not ten minutes after they'd told her, there was a knock on the door, and Yasha entered. Beau's face split into a wide grin. 'Hey,' she said.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Yasha smiled that same soft smile that made Beau's heart melt. 'Hey.' She came over to sit at Beau's side.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'You know, I think my memory's a little fuzzy,' Beau commented, and Yasha's smile twitched slightly. 'Yeah, I feel like something happened on the roof of the hospital, only I can't quite remember what it was.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The smile returned in full force. 'I think it was something like this.' She kissed Beau again, and this time, Beau kissed her back.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Wow.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I have wanted to do that for a very long time.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I have wanted you to do that for a very long time,' Beau told her. Yasha's eyes widened a little. Beau couldn't believe that they'd both been on the same page, utterly convinced that the other had been indifferent. She laughed. 'Well, fuck.' They'd never made it to Eiselcross, but somehow, that was okay.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">They stuck around in Yrossa for a few days, getting their bearings again. There was only one motel in town, but at least it was a hell of a lot warmer than the frozen wilderness. An air crash investigator came to talk to them, a conversation during which Beau discovered that Desmond had been transporting nothing but Twinkies. He would be getting a hefty fine, but no jail time.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Eventually, they made it back to Rexxentrum. They went by road, given that they were all understandably hesitant about the idea of getting on a plane again. Beau sent an email to Dairon to tell her what had happened, and got a very panicked phone call in return, which for Dairon meant that her voice was slightly faster and a little higher than usual, but that was about it.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Tell Zeenoth,' Beau told them. 'Or don't. Whatever. I don't care.' She had more important things to worry about than Zeenoth getting his boxers in a twist. Important things like when she was going to kiss Yasha again, and how to get Molly out of the hotel room so that she could spend time with Yasha.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'And have you sully the room?' Molly snorted, and went back to his laptop. 'Yeah, no thanks.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau rolled her eyes. They wouldn't have anyway. Yasha was being...frustratingly chivalrous, not wanting to do anything that might hurt Beau's broken leg. When the cast came off, though...well, all bets were off. That was Beau's hard deadline for going home. When the cast came off. Unfortunately, that meant they'd be spending a decent amount of time in shitty hotel rooms. That, though, was a problem that was solved remarkably quickly. They'd been in Rexxentrum less than a week when Molly returned (from going “out”), looking even more pleased with himself than usual.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'This is for you,' Molly said. He handed Beau a large envelope. 'They wanted to put it in your bank account, but I thought this would be funnier.' Intrigued, Beau opened the envelope, and found....a shitton of gold. Like, more than the four thousand in cash that Yasha had given her. What was it about mercenaries that they liked dealing in cash so much? Fewer tax issues?</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Molly,' Beau said. 'What the fuck is this?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Your insurance payout,' he told her. 'Your signature is <em>way</em> too easy to forge, by the way. Cost of luggage, tickets unredeemed, and medical bills. A few things they couldn't get, but all told you're sitting pretty. I had to use <em>all</em> the flattery at my disposal to get it paid out so quickly.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau was so utterly astonished that the only thing she could think to say was, 'Thanks.' She hadn't even <em>begun</em> to think about the issue of insurance. Now, apparently, she wouldn't have to, and the only thing that it had cost was Molly committing some light fraud.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Molly winked.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'You know, you're way less of an asshole than you make yourself out to be,' she continued. They'd already started down this rabbit hole, so she might as well see it through.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Molly gave her a look, and then leaned in conspiratorially. 'Don't tell anyone,' he whispered, and gave Beau a light punch on the arm.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">So they moved to a nicer hotel, and got a slight discount on long-term rates. Beau knew for a fact that the only reason Molly and Yasha were staying was because of her, and she was very grateful for it. There was something about the arrangement that was so comfortable, and it had nothing to do with the fact that Beau regularly fell asleep with her head resting in the crook of Yasha's shoulder as they watched house-flipping shows on cable. They tried watching the History Channel once or twice before Beau got mad at all the inaccuracies and nearly broke the TV by throwing the remote at it. 'Vespin Chloras was not an alien,' she told Yasha, matter-of-factly, as they went back to watching renovations. 'He was an evil, evil dude.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I will take your word for it,' an amused Yasha said.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">A little while after that, Beau's cast came off. She'd lost almost all her leg muscle (just another thing that Dairon would be pissed about).</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'You know,' Yasha offered. 'If you want, I can drive you back to Zadash.' It was a tempting offer. Spending several days, sitting behind Yasha on a motorcycle, spending the nights alone together in tiny motel rooms....</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">She couldn't possibly say no.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">So they rode to Zadash. Beau made sure to flip Molly a very large bird on her way out the door, right after giving him a hug. 'Next time we'll pick something a little closer to home, yeah?' she asked.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I did hear of a place that's crawling with zombies,' he said, brightly. 'I'll shoot you an email.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau nodded, and gave him a two-fingered salute. 'See you next time.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Safe trip,' Molly called out after them. 'Enjoy the sex!'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">That first night, in a motel just off the Amber Highway...well, neither of them got a lot of sleep, and the reasons that Beau could barely walk the next day had nothing to do with her leg. Yasha had been holding out on her.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The rest of the ride home was mostly uneventful. They did stop off at what promised to be the “Biggest Owlbear in Exandria”, a gaudy hundred-foot tall statue of an owlbear that appeared to mostly be used to sell t-shirts and refrigerator magnets. Several small children that surrounded the statue were sobbing in fear. Yasha bought two t-shirts, and insisted that they both wear one. It was surprisingly comfortable.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">They made it to Zadash late on a Grissen afternoon, and Beau was surprised at just how glad she was to be home. Zadash was home, after all, in a way that Kamordah had never managed to be. Beau had maybe sort of expected that nothing would have changed in her absence, but sadly, she was not that lucky. The moment she even gave a hint that she was in the vicinity, her phone exploded with calls. Some from Dairon, which she had expected, and a couple from Reani, which she hadn't.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau decided to get the legal stuff over with first, because hopefully that one would at least be quick.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Do you want me to come with you?' Yasha asked. She had made no mention of when she was going to go home, and for the moment, Beau was enjoying the company. It had been a long time since she'd been <em>with</em> someone in this sort of way, and more than Zadash, more than Kamordah, more than anything else, it felt like <em>home</em>.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Nah, shouldn't take long,' Beau told her. 'We can grab lunch afterwards, maybe?' They made plans to meet in the Pentamarket, afterwards, and Beau was glad that she at least had that to look forward to, because she was almost certain that the meeting wouldn't be a pleasant one.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Reani looked as resplendent as ever in a white pantsuit that seemed to bring out the gold tones in her eyes and her skin. 'No bodyguard today?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau frowned, before remembering that she'd brought Yasha with her last time. 'She's got some other things going on.' There was something in Reani's voice that Beau didn't entirely like. 'Did something happen that you think I might be needing her a bit more in the future?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'How about I give you an update, and then we can discuss that part,' Reani said. She pulled a large stack of folders from a pile on the shelf, and set them on the desk. 'So, per our last meeting, I've been doing some digging to find out exactly who we're dealing with. I filed a motion, and they filed an injunction, and I filed a motion to appeal their injunction, because it is absolutely absurd that you might not be allowed to know who's trying to make a claim, and anyway, long story short, were have some more details.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau straightened, and felt the hairs raising on the back of her neck. She hadn't expected that. She had expected (and also kind of maybe hoped) for this to drag out a lot long. As long as it was being dragged out, she didn't have to deal with it. 'So who're we dealing with?' she asked.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Her name is Isharnai,' Reani told Beau, and Beau...had no idea who that was. She had thought that maybe once she heard the name it would all make sense, but this didn't make any sense at all. 'She's a loan shark. Apparently she loaned your father his start-up fund, on the condition that one day, she receive a sizeable chunk of the business. I'm still trying to get them to send over any contract that actually <em>proves</em> that, though.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Beau snorted. That seemed like <em>exactly </em>the sort of thing that her dad would do. Get money from a loan shark, and then try and renege on a contract.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Does a loan shark seem like the sort of person that might put a hit out on someone?' she asked, and Reani gave Beau a commiserating sort of look. The sort of look that said “What do you think?”</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <em>Fuck.</em>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Well, Beau was extra glad that she hadn't brought Yasha along to this meeting now. She was maybe a little bit distracted while they ate lunch. She was thinking about far more than just what Reani had said. Was it too soon to be asking this kind of question? Ask this kind of question while they were eating cheesesteaks?</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Hey, you know how Shadycreek Run is a shithole?' Beau said, and almost immediately regretted it. She was pretty sure that insulting the place where Yasha lived was not a great way to start this conversation.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I'm aware,' Yasha said, wryly. At least as wryly as she could with sauce on her cheek. 'Though I have met some pretty cool people in Shadycreek Run.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Anyone I know?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Yasha bit her lip, and pretended to think on it. 'No, I don't think so.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Would you ever...' Beau hesitated, and she felt her nerve leave her. Yasha seemed to sense this, and put a hand atop of hers. It was slightly greasy, but that hardly seemed to matter. 'Would you ever consider maybe moving to a much nicer city? One that has a library, and a functioning justice system?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Yasha's cheeks glowed red. 'Are you asking me what I think you are asking me, Beau?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Well, I mean...it's not..I don't...Only if you want to, you know? Move here that is.' Beau felt her own cheeks start to turn red, as she rambled to avoid thinking about the possibility that Yasha might say no.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Molly will be thrilled,' Yasha said finally. 'He does always complain about the cold.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It was weird. Beau hadn't even considered the fact that Molly would come, too, but strangely, she found she didn't care. She might have liked (really, really liked) Yasha, but Molly had unexpectedly worked his way into her heart as someone she might even call a friend. Not that she would ever tell him that.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Whatever the future held, she wasn't going to be facing it alone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Beau and Yasha's uhaul speedrun.</p>
<p>Thanks for all your comments, they really keep me going. Find me on tumblr @ thefriendlymurderer.tumblr.com</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Soltryce Sting (Part One)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh god this took so long I'm really sorry. Hopefully the next chapter will be quicker, but we'll see.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">XX – The Soltryce Sting (Part One)</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <em> Zadash – Present Day </em>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I think there are few things we can do to help each other,' Essek said. There was a glint in his eye not unlike one that Caleb often saw in Beau when she got an idea. Not that there were a great deal of similarities between Beauregard and Essek on the face of it.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Forgive me,’ he continued. ‘I have…not been entirely honest with you.’ Caleb gave a wry sort of smile. That made two of them. He had expected, of course, that Essek would be hiding things. After all, a member of the Kryn Resistance undercover in the Empire did not get things done by telling the truth. Essek shot a look in Nott's direction – not expectantly, but it clearly showed that he would be much more comfortable talking to just Caleb. Nott gave a dismissive sort of scoff, and left the room. Caleb knew better than to think that she would behave herself.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Though she was gone, Essek hesitated. As though he didn't not particularly <em>want</em> to tell Caleb this, but found himself no other option. This, too, was understandable. While they had certainly grown cordial, Caleb did not think it had grown to closeness. There was potential there, of course. Essek was attractive enough; high cheekbones, and bright eyes, and soft white hair. But more importantly, their minds seemed to work along the same wavelength, keen and ever searching for answers.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Tell me,' Caleb said. The warmth in his voice was uncharacteristic, and not entirely his own. It had been taught to him, by Trent Ikithon, under the guise of getting things done at all costs. Using those skills made him feel...far more irredeemable than he already was. Still, it seemed to work. Essek took a breath, and began to speak.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘I…I worked in a small capacity as a double agent, for the Cerberus Assembly.’ Caleb felt his stomach drop. Any mask that he had put on felt like it was falling away, like autumn leaves.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘Worked <em>for</em> the Cerberus Assembly?’ he asked, his voice quaking slightly. He wouldn’t have said that he trusted Essek, but he had at least given him a small modicum of…well, leeway. But this...He did not know if he could forgive this.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘Not by choice,’ Essek admitted. ‘Herr Widogast, let me tell you a story.’ He looked back towards the doorway. ‘I think your small friend may find herself rather occupied in searching through my possessions.’</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb opened his mouth to defend Nott, but conceded that Essek probably wasn’t wrong. Of all the houses they had ever been in, Nott had taken plenty of time to search through things, not to steal, just to know. He did think it was a bit rich of Essek to be accusing Nott in the same breath as admitting to his own treason, even if Nott had very clearly already stolen several things.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">In any case, Caleb followed. His hand curled into a fist. He could have a ball of roiling fire in it in seconds, but that was the extent of his magical skill. He knew that Essek was well-studied in the art of magic, but whether he had any magical skill of his own...</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Bright eyes pierced Caleb's. He had met a lot of liars in his time, and generally had a very good idea of whether people were being, if not honest, then at the very least sincere. Essek was...He was not feeling regret, but at the very least he did not like what he had done. If he was going to kill Caleb, there were much better ways he could have done it, rather than an invitation to his own house.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Tell me everything that you know about the Beacon.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb raised an eyebrow. It was not that he did not expect Essek to know about the Beacon. Essek had clearly been a high-ranking member of the Kryn Dynasty. It would have been more suspicious if he <em>didn't</em> know about it.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">What concerned Caleb was the fact that he knew that Caleb knew about it. Essek seemed to sense his hesitation.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Essek nodded towards the door. 'Did you ever ask your snooping friend exactly who it was that hired your group to retrieve the Beacon?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb stared at him. It made sense. Of course it made sense. How Essek had seemed to have some knowledge of what mission it was that Beauregard had been on. Who else other than a Dunamancy scholar would have been willing to pay so much to have it retrieved? The question was, had he wanted it stolen for the former Kryn Dynasty, or for the Cerberus Assembly.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'If you are the one responsible for hiring us,' Caleb said, smoothly. 'Then you must have some idea of who it was that stole it.' It was not an answer to the question that Essek had asked, but it was the question that Caleb needed an answer to.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Essek's deep eyes did not leave Caleb's. There had always been....<em>something</em> between them, but this was different. This was professional, rather than personal. Whether there would – could – ever be anything personal between them again, Caleb didn't know.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'As I said,' Essek murmured, his voice low, in spite of the fact that no-one was around to hear them. 'I think we may be able to help each other.' Caleb's blood ran cold. The Cerberus Assembly did have something of a history in sticking their fingers into more pies than they should have. Even when Caleb had been a student, they had been pushing boundaries that the public would have been very worried to hear about.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The thought had crossed his mind previously, of course, that Trent and his ilk had been responsible for stealing the Beacon. After all, Beauregard had reported the magic of wizards. They were uncommon enough in a world of dwindling magic that if wizards were involved, the choices were few and far between.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Why, then, had Astrid questioned Beauregard, if they already had the Beacon? It could not have been just to find out where Caleb was. He hadn't thought that they cared about him so much. Had they been searching for him all this time?</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">There was something missing. Something that the Assembly wanted that they did not yet know about. Essek would perhaps be able to help.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Am I correct in assuming that you are looking to retrieve the Beacon?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'You are.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb considered the matter. Himself, Nott and Essek was not much of a retrieval team. Beauregard, and anyone else that might have been of help were somewhere in the Lucidian Ocean, and who knew how long they would be. It would be better to wait.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The longer they waited, though, the more likely it would be that Trent did...<em>something</em> with the Beacon. If he had plans, then Caleb's top priority would be to do everything possible to disrupt them.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Essek paused. ‘You may also be aware that the Beacons were a revered artifact of the Kryn Dynasty.’</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘You told me that you were a member of the Kryn Resistance.’ Caleb tried not to sound too accusatory. ‘Was that not the case?’</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘I am, and I am not,’ Essek admitted, which was hardly an adequate answer. ‘My goals are separate to the Kryn, separate to the Cerberus Assembly. I simply wish to learn as much as there is to learn about Dunamancy. The Kryn were not particularly keen on my insistence of using the Beacon as a tool for research, but they are somewhat...less objectionable than having to deal with the Cerberus Assembly.' A grimace crossed Essek's face that Caleb recognized very clearly as the look of someone that had had to deal with Trent Ikithon. Even amongst his own ilk, he was...tolerated at most.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">There were a hundred thousand thoughts going through Caleb's head. None of this was simple. None of this was straight-forward. It wasn't a matter of whether he trusted Essek, even though that was as unclear as ever.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It was a matter of whether he thought that Essek would be willing to do what needed to be done.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">…</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Essek's house was interesting to say the least. Nott had snooped in a lot of different houses over the years. Some of them she had broken into, and some of them she had legitimately been invited into. This one was somewhere in the middle. Essek had opened the door for her after all, but she doubted that he would have been pleased to know what Nott was doing while she was supposed to be in the bathroom. Caleb, she was sure, was keeping him busy with whatever it was that they were discussing.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb was very smart, after all, and though he never said anything, Nott knew that it upset him a little that neither she nor Beau was up to his level on matters of the arcane. Nott was pretty good, of course, and Beau's history knowledge was second to none, but they didn't even come close to having Caleb's knowledge about magic.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">While she thought it was good that he had someone to talk with about these things, Nott didn't trust Essek for a second. She thought that Caleb was so excited to have someone to talk to that he had overlooked several dozen red flags. If Beau were here, she would definitely agree with Nott, but Beau was out somewhere in the middle of the ocean, doing god knows what.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It was something that Nott wasted no time in bringing up on the car ride home. Once again, Caleb was hiding in the back, but it was still not too difficult to hold a conversation. He wasted no time in telling her what Essek had told him, about having done some work with the Cerberus Assembly (as if Nott hadn't been snooping around the door for that part of the conversation). There were long periods of silence from the back, where Caleb appeared to be thinking.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I am aware that he is not the most....trustworthy of people,' he said, finally. 'Whether or not he is truly a member of the Kryn resistance, I do not know. For one thing, he seems far less in awe of the Beacon than they are reported to be. He does not revere it, but he is <em>very</em> curious about it.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Nott wasn't convinced. She was confused as to why Caleb was so willing to see the best of Essek, that he was so willing to ignore all the times he had lied to them. Lied to Caleb, moreover.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It was a long drive back to Kamordah. The traffic was a bitch, but eventually they got through it. After they pulled into the garage, Nott let a disheveled looking Caleb out of the back. To her surprise, he was looking...if not happy, then contemplative. Like he'd been spending a lot of time thinking about things.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'So, what's the plan?' she asked him. 'Murder Essek and dump his body in an alleyway?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb smiled. There was a lot in that smile. Anticipation, and fear, and all of those things. Nott was very familiar with those smiles. 'Nein, my friend,' he said. 'We are going to steal the Beacon back.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">...</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It had been a long time since Caleb had set foot in Trent Ikithon's mansion. He remembered it as clearly as he did the near empty, sad sort of house that they lived in presently, with its too big sitting rooms, and artefacts covered in dusty sheets.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Once upon a time, he had seen it as a great privilege to be invited to the private home of the most highly decorated, best-published professor at the Soltryce Academy. It wasn't anything like the other universities, even the prestigious ones.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb knew for a fact, for instance, that the Zadash Community College did not have a department dedicated to studying ancient and forbidden forms of magic. At most, they had a potentially traitorous librarian interested in Dunamancy, and a part-time adjunct professor that studied magic because he didn't know what else to do.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">At Soltryce, his future had been so clear, his wants and needs so picture perfect, until they weren't. He had been so willing, so eager to study, to learn things that he never would have dreamed of otherwise, until that eagerness was twisted against him.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Many nights, Caleb still had nightmares about the things that he had done, about the things that had happened to him. There was no small part of him that would gladly take a knife, or one of the many other weapons in the house, and end Trent Ikithon's life. He wasn't sure if that would in any way make him feel better, but at least the things that had happened to him would not happen to anyone else.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The sound of footsteps shook Caleb from his reverie. It was very early in the morning, and Nott clearly hadn't been trying very hard to sneak up on him. She could be near silent when she wanted to.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb stared at her, Sharpie in his hand. 'I would say that this is not what it looks like,' he said, 'But....I think that this is exactly what it looks like.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The far wall of their “operations room” was now the canvas for a rudimentary floor-plan of a very large house. There were three storeys, and an enormous Estate, not to mention the mountains that surrounded it. For Caleb, breaking into the place would be an impossible task. For Nott, though...</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Where do you think the Beacon is?' Nott asked, ignoring the fact that it was two a.m, and Caleb was wearing a filthy pair of one-piece pyjamas, and was drawing on the walls of a house that did not belong to them. 'In the basement?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Nein.' Caleb shook his head. 'He would not want to keep it so far from him. It would be in his study, on the second floor.' He drew an asterisk where the study was. The last time Caleb had been there (admittedly some time ago) the safe had been in the corner of the room. It was a heavy, cast-iron thing, that was difficult to move, so perhaps it was still there.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'And where is the dining room?' Nott's brain was clearly well into “heist-planning” mode. Caleb drew another asterisk on the ground floor, on the opposite side of the building as the study. That was some small measure in their favor. Whoever went in to actually do the stealing would be less likely to be heard.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">At some point, Caleb could not even remember when, they had decided that a dinner party would be the ideal distraction. The implications of that were something that he did not particularly want to think about just yet, but it was sitting there in the back of his mind.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">With Essek, there were three of them. Definitely not enough to conduct the sort of operation that Caleb was considering. With three, if the guards were notified, then they were as good as dead.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">No, they needed someone with muscle (literal, actual muscle), and someone that would be able to help Nott.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Of course, if Beauregard and Jester were here, they would have been ideal for either role. Jester of course, was well used to sneaking into places and slitting people's throats, whereas Beauregard could punch an elephant and it would go down.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Without them, though, he had to be a little more creative, which meant a trip to Zadash, and to the mysterious Cobalt Soul.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb made no effort to disguise himself, nor make a secret of his attendance at the Soul. He did not care if Trent had people watching him; in fact, if they knew he was active again, it was better. That was one of the things he'd considered in the trunk of Nott's Hummer. What he didn't want, was for them to get an understanding of <em>why</em> he was going to the Cobalt Soul.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Thus, he came in with a very large satchel full of notebooks, pens, and other study materials. It was not so unusual for a researcher of his caliber to be requesting access to the Soul. In addition to being an organization that engaged in archaeological research, and the collection and dispersal of ancient artefacts, they also had the best libraries in the country. Much better, certainly, than Zadash Community College, and if Caleb was to admit it, probably even better than the Soltryce Academy. The Academy was of course unparalleled in its collection of books related to magic and the history of magic, but was woefully inadequate when it came to other subjects. At the Cobalt Soul, Caleb could study anything from the Calamity to the rare orchids found in the waste of Xhorhas.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The blonde-haired elf at the front desk did not look happy to see Caleb, and Caleb couldn't blame him. The last time he had been here, Nott had (at Caleb's request) caused a scene as a distraction, so that Caleb could retrieve a book. Beau had been mildly aghast when she'd found out: “Dude, you should have just told me, and I would have gotten it for you!” It had only been a few months since his library access had been restored.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The elf, whose name Caleb knew to be Zeenoth, looked suddenly relieved, when he realized that Caleb was alone. Caleb did not feel too much sympathy. He was sure they'd managed to get the blood out of the carpet eventually.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Mr. Zeenoth,' Caleb greeted the elf. 'I am here to conduct some research, if you will have me.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Zeenoth looked very much like he would like to say no, but his apparent fear of confrontation, and love of letting people read books won out. 'Of course, Mr. Widogast,' the elf said. 'Right this way.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">For the first few hours, Caleb did exactly as he said he was going to do. He looked to see if the library had any books on Dunamancy, and as he had suspected, there were hardly any. Certainly not to the extent that he would like.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">After another hour of taking notes, Caleb flagged Zeenoth down. 'I am looking, if you have it, for anything on the rise and fall of transmutation magic through history.' He lowered his voice slightly. 'And, ah....if Expositor Dairon is available, I would like to speak with them in private.' Zeenoth's eyebrows raised considerably.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I will...see if we can help you,' he said, slowly. 'Perhaps you would like to come to one of our private reading rooms.' The elf led Caleb into a small room at the back of the library, well lit, but only containing a single table and chair. Caleb put his books down on the table, but remained standing.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Perhaps ten minutes later, the door opened. A dark-skinned elven figure, perhaps six inches shorter than Caleb entered. If they were is intrigued or as confused as Zeenoth, then they didn't let it show.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb nodded. There was no point in wasting any time. 'My name is Caleb Widogast, we have met once or twice before.' He had gotten himself banned from the library on several occasions.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Has Beauregard gotten herself into trouble again?' Though Dairon's tone was calm, there was an undercurrent of worry to it. Beauregard did have a tendency to get herself into worrying situations.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Ah, no.' As far as Caleb knew, it was the truth. Given that Beauregard was presently in the middle of the Lucidian Ocean, out of phone range, she could have been dead, and he wouldn't have known.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I am in the uncomfortable position of having to ask for your assistance,' Caleb said. Dairon raised an eyebrow. This was clearly not the way that they had expected the conversation to go. <em>Caleb </em>had not expected the conversation to go this way. He did not think he had ever even been alone with Dairon before, let alone had a conversation with her. 'It is a matter of great urgency.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">If Beauregard had been there, Caleb would have had very little need to ask for Dairon's help. As it was, though, time was of the essence. If Trent moved the Beacon....He could have perhaps moved it already, in which case their planning was all for nought.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'The Cerberus Assembly is in possession of a very dangerous artefact,' he told them. 'One of the Luxon Beacons.' There was a look of clear recognition on Dairon's face, both of the artefact, and the notion that the artefact was very, very dangerous in the wrong hands. 'If they were to use it to their advantage...I do not think the Cobalt Soul would be safe from their reach.' Not entirely the truth, but not entirely a lie, either. 'I am looking to retrieve the Beacon.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Dairon narrowed her eyes. She seemed to see the game that Caleb was trying to play, but did not look as though she disagreed. 'Once this Beacon is retrieved, what do you intend to do with it?' Caleb had thus far avoided mentioning Essek, and his links to the Kryn resistance. If possible, he would not mention that part at all. Somehow, Dairon was even less trusting than anyone else he had met.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I would think that your organization, of all of them, would be willing to assist in returning a treasured cultural and religious artefact to its people.' The elf's gaze did not waver, and she seemed to be thinking on the matter.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'You have been spending too much time around Beauregard.' It was intended as something akin to a compliment, he thought. 'If she trusts you, and I know that she does, then I am willing to assist you in this endeavor,' Dairon told him. 'If at any point, however, I believe you to be doing something that is not in line with the interests of the Cobalt Soul, then you will not like my response.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Understood.' Caleb nodded. He didn't think that any of their plans would specifically go against the tenets of the Soul. Admittedly, he mostly only knew what Beauregard had told him. From the look on Dairon's face, though, it seemed that he was not the only one that was hiding things. Perhaps they would just use the endeavor as an excuse to do whatever it was they needed to do.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Given the Cobalt Soul's reputation, given that the Soul were renowned as being particularly disdainful of both the Cerberus Assembly and the Soltryce Academy, Caleb would not be surprised if that was the case.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I am still looking for some other parties to assist,' he told them. 'But...when we are ready to move, I will be in touch.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He picked up his books, and left.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Four down, one to go.</p>
<p class="western">…</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">This last choice, Caleb was the least confident about.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Not that he was confident about any of the others, save Nott. Dairon and Essek were both extremely capable, of course, but he didn't know them nearly as well as he knew Nott. Nott was....well, Nott was the most important person in the world to him. Caleb would have trusted her with his life many times over.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">This particular meeting...well, Beauregard would have done a better job here as well. Not that Caleb was hated, by any means. Nott, he thought, might have a better chance, which was why she was here too, with a very large glass of whiskey in front of her.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The bar was a dingy one. If Caleb had had the choice of venue, he would have picked a Zemnian bierhause, with large tankards of ale, and roasted pork hock, and cabbage. Instead, they had...not very nice ale, and burgers that looked like they might have come from an animal that had been slaughtered in the back alleyway.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Keg looked almost disappointed at who was meeting her. Caleb had told her, when he had called, that Beau was out of the country, but apparently Keg had forgotten. She did have very strange memory lapses sometimes, but she was very, very good with a rifle, and knew a lot of shady people. After all, she'd been working for some very shady people when they had met. It had been with her help that they had killed Lorenzo, the smuggler that had killed Mollymauk, and had almost killed Beau.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">These days, though, she had been going down a different path.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Oh yeah.' She grinned. 'I've been doing some work for Yasha's buddy Desmond. Do you know how fucking lucr—how much fucking money you can make moving crates of Twinkies? Apparently a fuckton.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Sounds less dangerous than smuggling antiquities,' Caleb commented.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Keg gave an appreciative sort of scoff. 'You're telling me,' she said. You accidentally drop a crate of ancient Julioun artefacts, you get your throat cut. Accidentally drop a crate of Twinkies, and it's pretty much just a slap on the wrist.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'But it is still illegal, ja?'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Oh, for sure. But you know...There are different levels of breaking the law. Moving Twinkies won't get you much jail time.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'What about breaking into a house?' Nott blurted out. Caleb turned to look at her. They had planned to break the request gently, to ease Keg into it. To not spook her.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Keg stared. Didn't do anything. Didn't say anything.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Like, not even a good guy's house,' Nott continued. 'The house of a really shitty guy! He hates Twinkies!'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Nott.' Caleb put a calming sort of hand up. 'The gentleman-' He hesitated on the word gentleman, because really, Trent was anything but, '-in question has stolen a very dangerous, very powerful artefact that is the rightful property of...someone else. That person has tasked us with retrieving it.' That was really only the tip of the iceberg, but Caleb knew that if he told the whole story, then Keg definitely would not be interested in helping.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'I mean...' Keg said. 'You guys did help me out of a really shitty situation...' There had been a mutual benefit to their arrangement, but Caleb was not about to bet against himself by mentioning it. 'I just don't see how much help I'd be with something like that.' She gestured to her heavy boots. 'I'm not exactly the quietest gal.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'You're a great distraction though,' Nott commented, before Caleb could say or do anything.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'What my friend means is that in a...caper such as this one, stealth will not be our only requirement. This man is far too clever, and far too resourceful to be outwitted by mere stealth and thievery.' He paused. 'You would be in attendance as my bodyguard, ostensibly. It would be easy enough to pass you off as a hired goon.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Keg hesitated. 'You sure Beau's not gonna be there.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">'Very.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The dwarf sighed. 'Alright, fine,' she said. 'But this time, you'll owe me.'</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb did not expect anything less.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">…</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">They had their team. Five people, as expertly as they could have been picked at short notice. Definitely not the group that Trent Ikithon would be expecting, and that had been part of the reason why Caleb had chosen them.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">If he had been watching Beauregard, then her, he would have been expecting. He was less likely to be expecting Beauregard's sometimes mentor, a dwarven mercenary, and a morally questionable drow wizard.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He certainly wouldn't be expecting Caleb to walk up to his front door.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It was an option that Caleb had agonized over for several sleepless nights. He knew what would be the best thing to distract Trent Ikithon, and it certainly wasn't Keg. Nor was it a disgraced pupil in disguise. It would be Bren Aldric Ermendrud that would provide the best distraction, that would allow Dairon and Nott, and perhaps Essek to break into Trent Ikithon's study to retrieve the Beacon.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">If Bren returned to the fold, then Trent would be able to think of nothing else, save the fact that the one student that he had not been able to keep a grip on was willingly returning to the fray. So full of hubris, he would not even think that it was for an ulterior motive.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Caleb hoped that his own hubris in the matter would not be his downfall.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm going to be 100% honest, the majority of my thought process for this was "hey, who would make the funniest heist team?"</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Alternate Arc titles, "Secrets and Spies" or  "Widogast's Fünf"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Soltryce Sting (Part Two)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <span>XXI – The Soltryce Sting (Part Two)</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>With </span>
  <span>the</span>
  <span> team selected, Caleb worked on the plan. Though it was ostensibly his mission (or at least his and Essek’s mission), he felt uncomfortable referring to the group as </span>
  <span>
    <em>his</em>
  </span>
  <span> team.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>After all, each member had a streak of independence that could ruin things if the dice went the wrong way. Dairon could decide that there were too many unknowns, or Essek could decide that he liked working for the Cerberus Assembly after all, or Keg could decide that the money wasn’t good enough.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The only one that Caleb thought he could truly trust was Nott. Nott, who had been by his side since the beginning. At least the beginning of </span>
  <span>
    <em>this</em>
  </span>
  <span> life. The life that had started on the run, that had started as a way to escape the Cerberus Assembly had somehow turned into a life where he was actively planning to return to the lion’s den, to steal a very valuable artifact to ensure that it did not remain in the hands of a sociopath.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>So it was with some trepidation that Caleb invited them all back to the manor. Dairon had been here before previously, as had Keg, but Essek had not. Caleb was sure, given the circumstances, that Beauregard would not mind too much. As long as any planning session was held away from their normal operations room, and </span>
  <span>
    <em>well</em>
  </span>
  <span> away from the place where several thousand gold worth of precious historical artifacts was being held. Though the vault was well-secured, this </span>
  <span>
    <em>was</em>
  </span>
  <span> a heist-planning meeting.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>That was before Essek suggested that he </span>
  <span>
    <em>not</em>
  </span>
  <span> attend the manor. Just in cast Trent was watching. It was a fair point; their plan would be over before it had begun if Trent suspected that Essek was...a triple agent? Caleb had, uncharacteristically, lost count.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Even still, he </span>
  <span>recopied the hand-drawn floor-plan of Trent Ikithon’s house onto the walls of one of the unused sitting rooms. Nott sneezed. Though they had swept the floor, and removed the white sheets, there was still a lot of dust.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Forty-five minutes before the agreed upon time, the doorbell rang. Caleb had expected this. More than once, Beauregard had bemoaned Dairon’s promptness (‘Six a.m means six a.m, not five fucking thirty. I don’t know how the fuck they do it.’).</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">Caleb went to the door, and ushered the elf inside. Her eyes darted around like a hawk; Caleb was sure if he had left even a single mote of dust in the hallway, it would have been noticed. But that, apparently, was not the reason for their perceptiveness.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Where is Beauregard?’</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It wasn’t an accusatory question, at least as far as Caleb could tell. He would have been curious, too, if Dairon had come to him for help alone. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>She is...taking care of some business,’ he said, lightly. Dairon’s eyes narrowed slightly.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>In the Lucidian Ocean,’ Nott provided, helpfully. </span><span><em>That</em></span><span>, Dairon raised an eyebrow at. Caleb thought that he put a pretty good pin on his surprise. He hadn’t even seen Nott come up behind them.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Hmm,’ Dairon said. As far as Caleb could tell, it wasn’t a problematic “hmm.” Unlike the Dunrock Mountains, there was not a blanket ban on the Cobalt Soul going to the Lucidian Ocean. At least, as far as Caleb knew, that was the case. Where there were general Xhorhasian border complications with the mountains, the Lucidian Ocean was almost certainly filled with pirates.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>But, Dairon didn’t ask any questions. Apparently, they trusted Beauregard’s judgment enough to not immediately go running off to the Lucidian Ocean. So that was something. But, for all that Dairon might have trusted Beauregard’s judgment, Caleb had not had particularly many one on one conversations with her.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Dairon’s eyes narrowed slightly when they saw the map scrawled on the wall of the sitting room. Admittedly, it was not a particularly professional operation. Perhaps he should have had Nott set up some monitors that weren’t attached to anything, just to give the impression of preparedness. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Shall I, ah...walk you through the plan?’ Caleb said, awkwardly. Perhaps he should have told Keg to come early. At least then, there would have been more people around to diffuse the tension.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He walked Dairon through the plan. Or, at the very least, the plan so far. The plan that involved attending Trent Ikithon’s manor for a perfectly legitimate dinner party, to serve as a distraction while the man was robbed blind.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Our, ah...</span><span><em>other</em></span><span> party member is a magic user like me,’ Caleb </span><span>continued, one of the other parts of the plan he had been saving until the end</span><span>. ‘A member of the Kryn Resistance who has some knowledge of the Cerberus Assembly.’ Not a lie, and yet not entirely the truth.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Dairon’s eyes narrowed. They did not need to say anything for Caleb to understand that they did not trust Essek as far as they could throw him. Which, if Beauregard was anything to go by, was rather far. It was a good thing, in a way. For as much as Caleb didn’t trust Essek either, he </span>
  <span>
    <em>wanted</em>
  </span>
  <span> to trust Essek, which meant that his judgment was more than a little clouded.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Nott didn’t seem to trust him particularly much, and that was without Caleb even telling her about the </span>
  <span>
    <em>other</em>
  </span>
  <span> complication</span>
  <span>s</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>I have a question.’ Dairon had been silent through the entire explanation. ‘How are you so sure that you will be able to convince Trent Ikithon to invite you to a dinner party?’</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>That part, Caleb was </span>
  <span>least sure about</span>
  <span>. There were some ideas running through his head, each as impossible as the last. The truth was, Trent Ikithon did like to use dinner parties to...well, intimidate people. To send a message.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>More than once, as the mage’s protege, Caleb had been forced to attend a dinner party and pretend that he was vastly enjoying his time at Ikithon’s Estate. Paraded around in front of other members of the Cerberus Assembly as some sort of twisted proof that torture as a method of education was not a fool’s game.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Perhaps that should have raised red flags.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Perhaps he should have realized the reasons why he was doing this, reasons that had less to do with the Beacon than he had thought.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>A young woman visited the Cobalt Soul not long ago, to talk to Beauregard,’ Caleb told them. ‘She would have been perhaps my age, with short blonde hair.’ He decided not to mention that she would also have matching scars on her forearms, that she might stop in the middle of a conversation staring off into the distance with the memory of having murdered her parents. ‘</span><span>She is an associate of T—of Ikithon. </span><span>Do you know how to get in contact with her?’</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Dairon thought for a moment. </span>
  <span>‘She would have spoken with High Curator Turray,’ </span>
  <span>they</span>
  <span> said. A look of the utmost displeasure crossed their face. Caleb had heard Beauregard complain of the High Curator on many occasions. In Beau’s words, he was a man who was far more interested in gold and prestige than in knowledge, and had a much closer relationship with the Cerberus Assembly than many of the acolytes of the Cobalt Soul were comfortable with. ‘If that is what you would like, I could have the High Curator summon her to the Cobalt Soul again.’ They did not look particularly enthused by this, but seemed to think that it would be the only option.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>That would be best, Caleb decided. If he were to go directly to Trent, Trent would surely believe that Caleb had something planned. After all, he had spent all this time trying to hide from the Soltryce Academy and its denizens. Why would he come out of hiding now?</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>But if he contacted Astrid? Astrid, who he had once loved with all of his heart, Astrid, who at the very least had looked regretful about all the things that had happened. Astrid, who along with Eodwulf, had known him since he could crawl.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Astrid might perhaps give him the benefit of the doubt. Might believe that he was looking to make amends. That by contacting her, he did not want Trent to find out about the situation.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Trent </span>
  <span>
    <em>would</em>
  </span>
  <span> find out of course. That much, at least, Caleb knew. Even if Astrid did not tell him, the Archmage of Civil Influence had </span>
  <span>
    <em>ways</em>
  </span>
  <span> of finding out about things. The fact that he had somehow not managed to determine Caleb’s (Bren’s?) location after all these years was disturbing to say the least. Caleb tried not to think about the possibility that Trent knew very well of his location, and simply did not care.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The thought that he was simply just another cog in Ikithon’s meat grinder was not a palatable one. Not least of all because it meant that there would be more people out there. More than just himself, and Astrid, and Eodwulf. </span>
  <span>If he could stop that from happening, then it would be all the better.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It was a thought that plagued his mind well after Dairon left, well after even Keg left, and it was just Caleb and Nott once more.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Are you sure about all of this?’ Nott asked. She wasn’t one to question his judgment unless it directly went against her own intentions. But, she did like to check in on him.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Not particularly.’ Caleb gave her a very strained smile. ‘But, if it all goes, ah...pear-shaped, then I’m sure we can go back to the old ways, eh?’ The old ways of running cons, and never spending a day more in a town than they had to. It was a harrowing thought, and yet strangely compelling. </span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>But now. From here, Caleb Widogast could only move forward. Not back.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The next </span>
  <span>afternoon</span>
  <span>, he drove to Zadash, to the University, and to the library. Essek, per their tradition, closed a few minutes early, and led Caleb into his office.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb couldn’t help but scratch at his forearms as he paced, nervously, and Essek, to his credit, did not say anything. Just waited patiently for Caleb to say his piece.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Before we attend the residence, there are some things that you should know.’ Given that Essek would be upstairs in the study, it was highly unlikely the drow would overhear anything said at the dinner table, but there was always a chance. The real question was, why was it so important to Caleb that Essek not find out because of Trent.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Or perhaps Caleb was telling him for another reason. Some lowkey manipulation to ensure that Essek was truly loyal to the cause in the way that he said he was. ‘When I was a boy, Trent Ikithon was my...teacher, for lack of a better word.’</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Essek seemed to stiffen slightly. Caleb wasn’t sure whether it was his tone of voice that gave the game away, or the fact that Essek was someone that had met Trent Ikithon, and knew exactly the kind of teacher that the man would be.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The kind of teacher that would brainwash and manipulate his students into committing pa</span>
  <span>r</span>
  <span>ricide. The kind of teacher that would do anything to cover up this fact when one of these students broke, committing them to an asylum for over a decade.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Perhaps Essek had even met some of Trent’s newer students, that even as Caleb had run and created a new life for himself, Trent had continued on in his attempts to pervert the very idea of education. That while Caleb was skulking in dark alleyways, and smearing his face with mud, Trent was courting some other fresh-faced teens, and promising them the world.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The world, of course, being untold magical powers in a society where magic was scarcely even heard of. The ability to bend the weave of time and fate, when some people could not even tie their own shoelaces.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It was a tempting offer. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb had of course said yes immediately.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Essek stayed silent throughout the conversation, though, unlike Dairon, he did not seem to be looking for holes to poke in the story. He was simply processing it.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>This, Caleb was sure, would put the things that Trent Ikithon had done, the things that the Cerberus Assembly had done into context for the man that seemed willing to defect to them for the promise of knowledge and power.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb realized, then, that while Essek had asked him what he knew about the Beacon, he had not asked Essek anything. It was a revered Kryn artifact; that much, at least was certain. But for Trent to be interested in it, it had to </span>
  <span>
    <em>do</em>
  </span>
  <span> something.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>There were rumors, of course. Caleb and Beauregard had spent a very long time in the research phase before heading off to the Dunrock Mountains. Some accounts suggested that the artifact was some sort of extraplanar space, being the size of a football, but containing many vast expanses inside of it. Other stories told of an untold bastion of Dunamantic energy. That had been Caleb’s first thought when Beauregard told him about the things the Beacon had done, and the reason why he had been talking to Essek about it in the first place.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>But, if Essek was to be believed, that the Kryn did not care much about the idea of </span>
  <span>
    <em>studying</em>
  </span>
  <span> Dunamancy, then there was another reason why they would be so desperate for it to be returned. What that reason was, though, Caleb was unsure. He suspected that Beauregard had some idea, having done extra research on her return from the Dunrock Mountains, and having (if however briefly) being in possession of the Beacon, but she had not deigned to share all of her research with him.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Do you know what an Umavi is?’ Essek asked. Caleb frowned. His Undercommon was not particularly good, but it was a phrase that he had come across while they researched. A phrase that he still did not entirely understand.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Perfect soul, yes?’</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Essek nodded. ‘But, you are not drow. Not of the Kryn dynasty, so I would not expect you to have an understanding of what that really means.’ He was not </span>
  <span>
    <em>trying </em>
  </span>
  <span>to be condescending. He was simply stating a fact. Caleb did not have the cultural or historical context to have a true understanding. Even still, the tone that Essek used was one that Caleb recognized, because it was one that he had used himself once upon a time. ‘The secret of the Kryn – the reason that the Kryn were overthrown by the Tasithar Dynasty – is that they are, they were, that is, obsessed with the concept of Umavi. Their leader, the Bright Queen, has died and been reborn several times. A process called “consecution.” The souls of the dead are stored in the Beacon.’</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It was a lot all at once. Caleb had many questions. How were the souls stored inside the Beacon? How many could it fit? Were all the members of the Kryn dynasty consecuted, or was it a practice reserved for the most esteemed of people? What impact did consecution have on the concentration of Dunamantic energy?</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It certainly made sense that someone who had lived longer, had lived many lifetimes with many experiences, would be a more powerful mage. It had certainly been the case </span>
  <span>with Halas, who had spent much of his life on the hunt for immortality. Not too long after they had met, Beauregard had showed Caleb the spellbook that she had uncovered in Molaesmyr, an ancient record of Halas’s arcane capabilities. Exactly why it was in Molaesmyr, Caleb was unsure. He had attempted to copy the spells for his own, but his magical powers were far too meager to be casting spells that were considered near impossible even at the height of the Age of Arcarnum.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>What </span><span><em>exactly </em></span><span>does the Beacon have to with a forgotten school of magic?’ Caleb frowned slightly. There was a connection there, he knew there was. He just couldn’t quite figure out what it was yet. </span><span>Was the Beacon the source of the Dunamancy?</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Forgotten?’ Essek sounded surprised. ‘Whoever said that it was forgotten?’ He rummaged </span><span>underneath his cloak</span><span>, and pulled out what looked like a single white pearl, that seemed to shimmer in the low light of the room. ‘I could teach your to bend fate to your will, to make the universe move fortune in your favor.’ Caleb was definitely not imagining the glint of possibility in Essek’s eye. It did not scare him. In fact, it enthralled him. To finally meet someone else that was interested in the power of possibility. Or the possibility of power. ‘From the power of the Beacon, so the Umavi would say.’ There was the slightest note of bitterness in Essek’s voice.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He</span>
  <span> pulled another thing from beneath his cloak; a small notebook of black leather, and silver trimming. Though it was not an artifact itself, Caleb could tell that it was brimming with its own strange, magical energy. ‘Do you have a spellbook?’ Essek asked.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb did have a spellbook. It was under lock and key in the manor. Generally, he did not think it was a good idea to be advertising to the world that one was a practitioner of forgotten arcane arts. ‘It is not on me,’ he admitted. He did have a regular notebook, which would suffice to copy down the arcane equations and sigils to be transferred to his spellbook later. It was an arduous process, more so given that he would have to do it twice.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Essek watched as Caleb diligently copied the spells, and the explanations for what each spell did. Some were well beyond his level, but even the theory of such complex magic did its part in helping his arcane energy bloom. Once or twice, Essek made a correction; told Caleb that he had drawn a line in the wrong spot, or misread one of the handwritten words. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb gave a light chuckle, as he finished, and snapped his notebook shut. It would be a very long night, copying them into his spellbook. ‘You are a much better teacher than Trent Ikithon ever was.’</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>A strange look crossed Essek’s face. ‘Is it wrong,’ </span>
  <span>he</span>
  <span> mused, ‘That having met the man, and having heard your experiences with him, that all I would like to do in this moment is murder him?’</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb considered the question. He could not deny that the thought hadn’t crossed his own mind, many times over the years. Still, the mere fact that Essek was willing to murder someone for him was perhaps a little charming. But then, what was murder compared to treason?</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb had never thought that he would look forward to having a late </span>
  <span>dinner</span>
  <span> with someone who had betrayed their country. Beauregard, he was sure, would have a lot to say about it, and even Nott might have raised an eyebrow. While the goblin generally trusted in what Caleb did, she did tend to worry.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb...it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t worried. He didn’t think he fully trusted Essek, but he did trust that Essek seemed to be willing to do what was necessary to take down Trent Ikithon, and that made them allies.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Whether or not something else would come from that later, Caleb could not tell. Like Beauregard, confusion was not a feeling that he was comfortable with, in spite of (or perhaps due to) the fact that he had spent a great deal of his life confused, no thanks to Trent Ikithon.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The fact that Essek had bothered to tell him the truth, to bring him into the cone of silence, so to speak, was a small point in the drow’s favor. Caleb was sure that as smart as he was, he could have gone a long time without ever figuring it out. Perhaps because it was something that he didn’t particularly want to be true.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>After all, he had been burned before by people that insisted on saying that they had his best interests at heart.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span><em>Bren would be the ideal candidate for a scholarship at the Soltryce Academy. I think he would do very well there</em></span><span>.</span><span><em>’</em></span><span> In Caleb’s mind, Trent Ikithon looked exactly the same as he did twenty years ago, even though he was much older now. Caleb had seen pictures of him in the newspaper, and on arcane journal websites. In his late seventies, it looked like a strong breeze might knock him to the ground, but Caleb knew better. A strong breeze would have to contend with arcane powers the likes of which the world did not even think about wanting to believe. Even Beauregard, mired as she was in the history and the magic of the world had no idea as to the capabilities of the Cerberus Assembly. Or the capabilities of Caleb himself, for that matter.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>She had seen him throw a </span>
  <span>
    <em>Fire Bolt</em>
  </span>
  <span> once, but that was about the extent of it. She was more concerned with the affect of magic on the world and on the past than in the deeper intricacies of it.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Over dinner, they did not discuss Trent Ikithon. They did not discuss the forbidden magics that they both had interest in, nor anything that Caleb really wanted to discuss. All of those subjects were far too dangerous to discuss in public, lest the Cerberus Assembly already had eyes on him.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>If they already had eyes on him, then perhaps it was already too late.</span>
</p><p class="western">…</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>The following afternoon saw Caleb driving out to Zadash once more. He had been to the Cobalt Soul once or twice, but never to do something that game him as much anxiety as this. He was mildly perturbed at the speed at which things changed. From Dairon leaving the manor, there was </span>
  <span>very little turnaround</span>
  <span> before she told him that Astrid Beck would be attending the Cobalt Soul the very next day.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Astrid looked...well, she had looked better. There were crows eyes at the top of her cheekbones, and a very large burn scar across her neck that Caleb could not help but fixate on. He wondered if he was responsible for it. His hands twitched. While he knew he was still capable, he had not used his fire on a person in a very long time.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>Your friend is a very good liar,’ she commented. ‘I almost believed her when she told me that she did not know you.’ It could have been the truth, but it was just as likely that Astrid was lying. She was extraordinarily perceptive, but then, Beauregard </span><span><em>was</em></span><span> a very good liar. Even then, the fact that Beau did not know Bren Aldric Ermendrud was entirely the truth. Caleb was a very long way from the boy he had been thirteen years ago.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>After all, Bren had been a loyal soldier. Caleb was...Caleb was not entirely sure what he was. Loyal to Nott, perhaps, and maybe to Beauregard. The others, he was a little iffy on. But not loyal to a cause, unless that cause was “making sure that Trent Ikithon suffered for the rest of his life.” Even then, though…</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Caleb could not deny that he wanted answers. That his reasons for wanting to meet with Ikithon were about more than just the Beacon. Not that he planned on telling anyone else that.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>At the end of the day, anything that served as a distraction to give </span>
  <span>the others more time.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>She was trying to protect me,’ Caleb said. That part, at least, was not a lie. His friends were very protective.</span><span>‘It is good to see you,’ he told Astrid. Again, not a lie. After everything that had happened, Caleb was at the very least glad that Astrid was doing well enough to be able to drop everything and come to Zadash at a moment’s notice. As students they had very rarely had that sort of freedom.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Long past were the days of stealing away their precious few hours on a Da’leysen afternoon to drink beer at a dance hall, and marvel at all the wonders that Rexxentrum had to offer that were just outside their reach.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>There was a long pause. Finally, Astrid said, ‘It is good to see you too.’ Try as he might, Caleb could not sense any lie in her voice, either. As messy, and as complicated and as heartbreaking as this all was, some part of it felt like stepping back into his old shoes. Like they were clustered around a door in Trent’s manor, giggling, trying not to get caught eavesdropping on a meeting with the Martinet, or whiling away a lazy afternoon in the warmth of a Rexxentrum summer, casually looking up long-forgotten magics. </span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>That, of course, was all before it had started. </span>
  <span>
    <em>After</em>
  </span>
  <span> it started, there was not a great deal of carefree giggling, or lazy afternoons. Even the quiet moments were punctuated by an ever-present fear of what would happen next.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>
    <em>What happened, </em>
  </span>
  <span>were the words that were swirling around Caleb’s mind, to the point where he didn’t even realize he was saying them until they had already come out of his mouth.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>A lot of things happened. Where would you like me to begin?’ Caleb wasn’t sure what he had been expecting. Whether he had been expecting her to immediately break down and admit that Trent had brainwashed them, that they had been tricked into murdering their parents, that he was a cancer that out to be excised and discarded...But no. These were the words of someone...of someone who was being very careful with their words. Someone who was worried at what might get back to someone a great deal more powerful and influential.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>The last thing I remember is my home.’</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>We’re...we were chosen for a reason. From obscurity picked from the rest of the riffraff for something that we can do. And to...</span><span><em>seize</em></span><span> such a destiny can cause terrible heartache. And we can do some terrible things.’ There was a sadness in her eyes that looked so familiar, because it was the same sadness that Caleb saw in his eyes in the mirror every morning.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>Even still though, the way he had always been able to hide a little bit of himself from his friends, he could not begin to understand whether Astrid was...well, on his side. Or at the very least not on Trent’s side. He was beginning to suspect that she was on her own side, a side carved out separately from anything else. A side that ensured her own safety, her own survival. Caleb could not blame her. After all, he had done the same thing. Just in a very different way.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>It would be best to assume that </span>
  <span>they were not on the same side</span>
  <span> and then, if things turned out otherwise, he would not be disappointed.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>You know that Trent would be delighted to see you.’ That, Caleb knew, was not a lie. There was nothing in the world that Trent Ikithon would love more than to see how far his most promising student had fallen. Reduced, by Trent’s design, to teaching </span><span>Zemnian history at the Community College. Driving a shitty car, and living in the spare room of a friend’s mansion. ‘Perhaps you and your friends would consider coming to dinner.’ There it was. Trent would very dearly love to see a pathetic, miserable mess of a man come crawling back into the fold, </span><span>begging for a second chance.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">That was exactly what Caleb was counting on.</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>I do not want my friends involved in this,’ Caleb said. It was not a lie. He </span><span><em>didn’t </em></span><span>want his friends to be caught up in his business with the Soltryce Academy. Yet another reason why he wanted to do this while they were away. Nott...well, she was a little more than just a friend. She was his partner.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">
  <span>He didn’t want her caught up in it either, but it was something of an inevitability. He trusted Nott with his life. Trusted her to help him fix the problems that he had created. Whether or not she would afford him the same privilege was yet to be seen.</span>
</p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>What is it that they would be involved in?’ Astrid seemed to be genuinely curious. ‘There is no-one that is going to hurt you, B-Caleb. You are not a boy anymore.’</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">‘<span>I do not think that you really believe that.’ They both knew as well as each other that Trent would love to get his claws in Caleb once more. It was the only reason that this harebrained plan had any chance of success.</span></p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western"> </p><p class="western">If he was lucky, then he wouldn’t bring anyone else down with him.</p><p class="western"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm still here I guess? Expect next chapter sometime in 2022.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. The Soltryce Sting (Part Three)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="western">
  <span>XXII – The Soltryce Sting (Part Three)</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>This looks stupid.’</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>After all the planning that he had done so far, this was the last place that Caleb had expected to find himself. He had given Keg a rundown of the plan, and she had hit him with something of a conundrum: “great, do you want me to wear the ripped jeans, or the stained jeans?”</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Which was how Caleb found himself at a very nice tailor that had been recommended to him by Essek. Keg was standing awkwardly in boxer shorts, shirt and blazer, while an elven man pinned the fabric a little closer in.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>It is a dinner party,’ Caleb said. ‘And you did not want to wear a dress.’</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>If I’d known I’d have to put on some kinda dog and pony show, I woulda asked for more money.’ The elven man started slightly; so slightly that Keg didn’t even seem to notice, but Caleb did. Whether the man thought he had hired Keg for...other reasons, it was hard to tell, but Caleb was not going to be the one to correct him.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>I am paying for your suit,’ Caleb pointed out, though he knew that that was not the point Keg was trying to make. ‘Trust me,’ he continued, ‘This is a very important part of the mission.’ It was not an exaggeration. Caleb could not think of anyone that would cause Trent to raise more of an eyebrow as Caleb’s dinner companion than the woman that he had once seen smoking two cigarettes at once while crouching in an alley relieving herself.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It </span>
  <span>
    <em>would</em>
  </span>
  <span> have been very funny to have her go in wearing stained and torn jeans, but Caleb knew enough to know that he should at the very least look like he was putting in a modicum of effort. He had always been an overachiever, after all. Trent would not have picked him otherwise. If he showed up in his ratty old coat, unshaven and covered in filth, Trent would assume the worst. That Caleb had given up.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>He wondered, vaguely, if that was why he had kept up that disguise for so long. Because for a long time, he almost </span>
  <span>
    <em>had</em>
  </span>
  <span> given up. It was a sobering thought.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>In his own wardrobe there were definitely no finely-tailored suits. No stained and torn jeans, either, but even as Bren he had never worn those.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Instead, there were corduroy trousers in vary shades of brown and orange, and a single weather-beaten, moth-eaten coat that he wore even on the hottest days of the summer.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>After this, after Trent Ikithon had become aware of his presence, perhaps he would be able to branch out a little. Some blues and purples, perhaps. After all, it wasn’t as though he could run. Not again. Not with everything that he had built up for himself.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It was better to fight, than to run. It had taken Caleb a long time to learn that lesson. Sometimes, perhaps, he still needed a bit of a reminder.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Once both his and Keg’s outfits were sorted, they parted ways. Then came the somewhat difficult part of the endeavor – getting to Rexxentrum.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It was not too long of a drive; a little over three hundred miles along the Amber Highway. It would take them right through the Zemni Fields, though, thankfully, not too close to Blumenthal. Caleb didn’t think that he could handle going back to Blumenthal before this was all sorted. It would make him question every decision that he had made.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The shopping mall where his old house had once stood did not hold any complicated memories, but the two gravestones, untended, at the Blumenthal Cemetery certainly would. Perhaps on the way back, if there was time…</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Both Essek and Dairon elected to make their own way to Rexxentrum. Caleb didn’t doubt that they both had far more resources than he did when it came to being able to get there without setting off too many flags. He was certain, for no reason other than it was something that Trent was likely to do, that flight records would be checked.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb’s shitty car, driving at its top speed of about </span>
  <span>60 miles per hour would get there in about five and a half hours, but he would probably have to put something heavy in the back to stop it from veering too much. A tiny goblin hiding in the back seat would provide some ballast, but not as much as was needed. A goblin in the back and a dwarf in the passenger seat, on the other hand, might swing things in their favor.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Perhaps it should have been a warning sign. The fact that even </span>
  <span>
    <em>getting</em>
  </span>
  <span> to Rexxentrum was fraught with dangers. That this plan would be better off scrapped, and the Beacon put down to a lost cause.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>But no. Trent Ikithon could not be allowed to have a powerful magical artifact, let alone a powerful magical artifact that also happened to be a stolen cultural relic. So even if he’d wanted to, running away wasn’t really an option.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>They reached Rexxentrum in the early hours of a Folsen morning, with Keg and Nott having threatened to kill each other only three times during the drive. It was a new record low. The last time they had worked together, it had been five.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Nott waited in the car while Caleb and Keg checked into their hotel. It was a </span>
  <span>somewhat</span>
  <span> dingy one on the outskirts of town, not too far from the Shimmer Ward. Even at this time of morning, Caleb could see the twinkling lights of the Soltryce Academy, of academics in their high towers burning the midnight oil.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Some of them, perhaps would know about the deep, dark depths that the faculty of the university had been to, would know at the horrors committed in the name of academic process. </span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb wondered how they slept at night. Did they think it worth the price of the stains on their soul?</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Others still would have no idea. Unaware that the walls on which they hung their hats were dripping with blood.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>That would all change, if Caleb had anything to do with it. Either people would know, or the Soltryce Academy would be burned to the ground. He wasn’t sure which option he preferred.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Nott was waiting for them in the room, having apparently evaded all guards, cameras, and anyone else that might have spotted her. She was very sneaky when she wanted to be, and she almost always wanted to be.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>There were two twin beds, along with a small, roll-out camp bed that had definitely seen better days. Once upon a time, though, Caleb and Nott had curled up in much smaller spaces than a twin mattress, and there was a strange sort of comfort to doing it once more.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>They had a little over fourteen hours until their invitation came due. Six o’clock sharp, at the manor of Trent Ikithon.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb wondered if Essek and Dairon were already in town. He assumed they were, given the plan was for them to meet Nott at one of the beer halls Caleb had once frequented. It would be too suspicious if they accompanied Keg and Caleb.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Perhaps they, too were lying low, waiting out the hours for their plan to go into action.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb tried to sleep.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>He should have slept, given what they were going into. One did not go up against Trent Ikithon on caffeine and a hare-brained plan. People rarely seemed to go up against Trent Ikithon at all if they could help it, and with good reason.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>A worryingly high percentage of them seemed to end up dead. Caleb still had nightmares of some of them screaming.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Tonight, though, he didn’t dream. Or at least any dream he had, he didn’t remember. Not uncommon for him. Some dreams stuck with him for years at a time, as though they’d happened yesterday, and some seemed to slip through his fingers like they were made of smoke, regardless of any keen memory he might have had.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The sleep was, however, fitful. There was something about the idea of finally facing the man that had made Caleb’s life a living hell for so long that made him nervous. Unsurprising, of course. There were so many ways in which this could go wrong.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb wasn’t even sure if there was some part of him that was hoping that it </span>
  <span>
    <em>would</em>
  </span>
  <span> go wrong. That he could be there to see the look on Trent Ikithon’s face when he realized what had happened. Or perhaps that was inviting fate into something that he did not want fate to be meddling in.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It was around ten a.m when Caleb woke, the sun streaming in through a gap in the curtains. He felt as though he’d spent the night sleeping against a rock, with his neck at an odd angle, rather than on a perfectly serviceable bed in a perfectly serviceable </span>
  <span>h</span>
  <span>otel on the outskirts of Rexxentrum.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Though they would be leaving as well-dressed, respectable-looking individuals, Caleb was sure that their ratty arrival would have raised red flags at any of the nicer hotels closer to the Shimmer Ward. Plus, well, if they had to make a very quick getaway, then this hotel was much, much closer to the Amber Highway. They could be on their way in five minutes.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Even now, they could still leave.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Forget the Beacon, forget Trent, forget everything else in the world. He and Nott could start driving; down to Zadash, down to Trostenwald, down even to the Wuyoun Gates. Hells, they could even get on a plane and go even further. There was no real reason that they had to do this.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Beauregard, he was sure, would understand it.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>While Keg was in the shower, he spoke to Nott. It had been a while since they’d had a good long chat, just the two of them, and while on the morning of the greatest heist they had ever pulled seemed like a bad time for it, it was certainly on brand.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>I am afraid,’ Caleb admitted. ‘There are so many ways in which this could all go wrong. But if the worst should happen…’ he trailed off, letting Nott put the pieces together herself. She always had been a clever one.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Big yellow eyes stared, piercingly. ‘I’m not going to leave you there, no matter what you say.’</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Nott, Trent Ikithon is a madman, who cares nothing for other people. If you are captured, then it will not be a pleasant experience.’</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>Pssh.’ Nott waved a hand. ‘We’ve been in prison together before, in much worse places than this. It’ll be fine.’ She was thinking, Caleb could tell, of Darktow, and all the horrors they had endured there. He could not find a way to explain that compared to this, Darktow would be like a day spa.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>Promise me,’ Caleb insisted. ‘That if things go wrong, you will get out of there.’ If it had been anyone other than the two of them, Nott might have said yes, and Caleb might have believed her.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Now, though, they were both well beyond pretending that they weren’t the most important person in each other’s lives. </span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The sound of a clearing throat made both of them turn their heads. Keg was standing at the bathroom door in boxers and an undershirt, toweling her hair dry. A very damp cigarette hang from her lips. ‘Don’t mind me,’ she said. ‘You guys have your moment.’</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>They got ready; Caleb and Keg in their suits, and Nott in her hooded jacket and black jeans. She would draw less attention with the hood up, Caleb knew. Goblins weren’t exactly common in the Shimmer Ward.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It was still three hours until their go time, once Caleb had put the finishing touches on his bow tie. They passed the time playing cards with a ratty deck that Nott had brought, a deck that Caleb knew for a fact was marked.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Every bit of gold that Nott won from their dwarven friend, Caleb would pay back to her when the job was done.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Finally, at five-thirty, his phone buzzed. The taxi that he had ordered to take them to Ikithon’s manor was outside the hotel reception waiting.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb gave Nott a hug of good luck, and went outside before he could change his mind. Either this was going to work, or it wasn’t.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The ride was more than a little bit awkward. The taxi driver made polite conversation about why they were going to the Shimmer Ward (Caleb was far too smart to take a taxi to Ikithon’s house directly). He didn’t particularly care whether the driver believed his lies.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Once they reached the Shimmer Ward, they walked to the Candles. It was a very expensive neighborhood, and Caleb in his usual attire would surely have been arrested on the spot. In the finest tailored suit, lined with purple silk, however, he cut a very respectable figure.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Lavish was far too insignificant a word to describe the manor. Clearly, tenure had suited Trent Ikithon well. Or, Caleb supposed, the abuse and torture of impressionable teens had clearly done him well. But, to the Soltryce Academy those things might as well have been one and the same.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>He clenched his fist as he knocked on the door. At his side, Keg adjusted her suit. The dwarf was clearly uncomfortable in something so formal. It was for the best. Her discomfort would draw attention. Not that Caleb had told her that.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>It felt wrong to not have Nott at his side, but if this venture had any chance at success, Nott had to be the one doing the actual stealing. She was the only one good enough. If Beauregard had been here, she was perhaps the only other one that Caleb would have trusted not to set off any alarms. Perhaps Dairon was capable, but then, Caleb was sure that they were far more interested in other things that they might find in Trent Ikithon’s study.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Proof, for one thing, that the Cerberus Assembly was having undue influence over King Dwendal. Proof even that the Cerberus Assembly had been responsible for the near death of a Cobalt Soul operative in the Dunrock Mountains. Not that Beau’s trip there had been in any way sanctioned...but if it showed a pattern of harassment, showed that the Assembly – and Trent – were looking to undermine the Cobalt Soul…</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Hopefully, this would be a productive endeavor in more ways than one. </span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>If he was honest with himself, Caleb would have dearly loved to cause a ruckus in the midst of the third course by setting fire to Trent’s manor and everything inside of it. Alas, the downside to having dinner with a powerful archmage was that he probably had defenses against that sort of thing. That was the reason why Essek would be assisting Nott and Dairon, rather than providing support downstairs. There would certainly magical wards of some variety in the study. Admittedly, though, Caleb was relying on some level of hubris on Trent’s part regarding the matter. That the Archmage could not fathom someone even attempting to break into his study.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Perhaps that was </span>
  <span>arrogance on Caleb’s part. To presume that he knew this man so well, the man that had groomed him, and brainwashed him, and done all manner of other things to him.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Beauregard would have told him he was getting ahead of himself. She certainly had no qualms about calling him out. Nott was a little more hesitant. Or perhaps hesitant was the wrong word. Nott had no troubles in calling Caleb out when she thought he was wrong. There were just very few occasions when she thought that he was wrong.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>He should have been more bothered by that than he actually was.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The front door opened of its own accord. There was no butler, or other sort of servant to greet them. Parlor tricks designed to spook them. Caleb was unperturbed, but Keg was mildly rattled. Caleb was unsure if she had </span>
  <span>
    <em>any</em>
  </span>
  <span> experience with magic. That, again, was by design. If this went south, then muscle would be very beneficial.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Though, if this went south, then Caleb was entirely certain that he would have to give up any hope of retrieving the Beacon. Give up any hope of taking a single bit of ammunition away from Trent Ikithon and starting the whole house of cards crumbling.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Trent was waiting for them in the parlor. He was dressed in his finest robes, the kind that were reserved for important Cerberus Assembly meetings, and audiences with the King. Certainly not the kind you wore to dinner with an old student unless you were trying to look impressive and intimidating.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Perhaps they were both trying to send a bit of a message.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Standing behind Trent were Astrid and Eodwulf. Astrid, he had of course, met with in Zadash, but Wulf...Caleb had not seen Eodwulf in a very long time. His last memory of his once great friend was of a muscular nineteen-year-old boy, towering over his compatriots, and making people thing that he was a brawler of some kind.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Still, even when they were teens, Eodwulf’s spellcraft was as elegant as Caleb had ever seen. Trent expected nothing less than perfection; if any of them were not up to scratch, they would have been thrown out into the cold.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Eodwulf could not hide the smile that crossed his face at the sight of his old friend. It broke the tension a little as he strode forward, and clasped Caleb’s arm. ‘It’s good to see you,’ he said. Trent cleared his throat slightly, and Eodwulf pulled back as quickly as if Caleb’s arm had been wreathed in fire.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Still following orders, then.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>It is good to see you too,’ Caleb said quietly. It was </span><span>four minutes past six</span><span>. The plan was to wait until dinner (or at the very least canapes) was in full swing to commence the breaking and entering. Six fifteen at the earliest.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Trent gestured to a coat rack, where two very nice coats were already hanging. The black one, was of course, Eodwulf’s, and the forest green was presumably Astrid’s. She always did look good in green.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>Thank-you, I would prefer to keep it on,’ Caleb said. Not because he was cold, or even because he had spell components in it. If he took off the coat, then he would see the scars at the top of his wrists, </span><span>and the scars there, </span><span>and focus on them, instead of on the plan.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Keg, following his lead, kept her jacket on.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>You have not introduced us to your companion, Br—Caleb,’ Astrid said, and Caleb could not fail to notice the look she shot towards Trent. This was no slip of the tongue. She very clearly wanted Trent to notice the use of Caleb’s name.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>This is Keg,’ Caleb said. ‘She is my, ah...bodyguard, for lack of a better word.’</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>Pleasure,’ Keg said, her tone making it clear that it was anything but. ‘I gotta say, you got some real fancy looking shit everywhere. Next thing you’re gonna tell me that the shitter’s made of solid gold.’</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Eodwulf coughed his way through a laugh. Trent said nothing, but his eyes narrowed. As suspected, to bring a dwarf – a non-magical, non-academically inclined dwarf – into his home was apparently the very height of insult.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>The dining room was just as ostentatious as Caleb remembered. The table was long, and set for six. Caleb frowned. He had, of course, advised of his intent to bring a guest (though he had not given any further details). Himself, Keg, Astrid, Eodwulf and Trent made five.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Who, then, was the sixth? It was not beyond Trent to put something there just to send a message, but for some reason it unnerved Caleb. Being here at all unnerved him. He wished that his friends could have been here. Keg was...well, Keg was friendly enough (or at least friendlier than she had been the first time they had met), but she wasn’t the comforting, supportive type.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>If he was going to get through this, it would be on his own strength.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb sat down opposite Astrid, who gave him a look that was almost commiserating. She had to have known what to expect. After all, she was the one that had alerted Trent to Caleb’s whereabouts. For the first time, though, Caleb considered what life must have been like for her and Eodwulf after he had...well, broken.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>If Trent had been mad, he almost certainly would have taken it out on them. A punishment split, then, between two, rather than between three. He wondered if those first few months had been painful, to have been without Bren after having been inseparable for so long.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb was surprised to realize that he felt sorry for his old friends. Not just because they had been tortured, but because after all this time, it was clear that they were still under Trent’s thumb. More to the point, it was clear that they did not particularly want to be.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Caleb filed that thought away for later.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Dinner was as awkward as Caleb knew it was going to be. No sooner than he had settled himself into the chair, invisible servants arrived with platters of canapes. </span>
  <span>The simplest of magics for someone as old and as well-trained as Trent Ikithon, but for Keg, it was awe-inspiring. Caleb was not one to forget, but sometimes he did not fully appreciate that for the rest of the world, magic was </span>
  <span>rare and exciting</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>More than the invisible servants, there was apparently a more pressing matter at hand. </span>
  <span>Keg stared at the forks, looking...horrified was perhaps the wrong word. </span>
  <span>Perplexed</span>
  <span>, </span>
  <span>maybe</span>
  <span>. Caleb was sure she had never been to a restaurant where more than one fork was even necessary. ‘Start with the one on the outside left,’ Caleb murmured. He winced slightly, as Keg looked down at her hands for a moment, apparently trying to remember which one was the left. ‘The one your watch is on.’</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Keg nodded. Caleb had no doubts that she did, in fact, know her left from her right, but this was...well, a tense situation. He was certain that when people hired her, they didn’t hire her to attend fancy dinner parties. </span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Keg took the outermost knife and fork, and began to dig into the canapes. The bacon-wrapped figs disappeared as though they were little more than grains of rice. Caleb was very much aware of the thinly veiled distaste from Trent, and the even more thinly veiled amusement from Eodwulf.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Trent had always been one that valued intelligence and cunning above everything else. He considered people that fought with weapons or fists as beneath him, as somehow lesser than someone that preferred to use their mind as a weapon.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Hopefully, Trent would be focused on that, rather than on the trio of people that were currently attempting to break into his study.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Keg was at least savvy enough to understand the reason why she was here, and seemed to be very much enjoying herself. ‘These figs are real fucking good,’ she said, barely managing to suppress a belch. ‘Where’d ya get ‘em?’</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Trent did not uncurl his disgusted expression. Finally, it was Astrid who answered. ‘There is a farmer’s market not far from here where the chef gets much of the produce.’</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The food was, as it had always been, delicious. Trent was very good at using even a simple dinner party to portray an image of control and command.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"><span>The main course was a delicious </span>Sauerbraten that was not too different from what Caleb’s mother used to make. While Trent had no doubt sent someone to get the finest cuts of beef, Una Ermendrud saved every penny, every scrap of salt and spice throughout the year, spent months drying juniper berries scavenged from roadside bushes, begged and borrowed ginger snap cookies and honey all to be able to give her darling son Bren his favourite meal on his birthday.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">He knew what Trent was doing, of course. The same thing he had done a hundred, a thousand times before.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">Perhaps the idea of torturing Caleb was enough that Trent would not notice whatever was going on upstairs.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It was unnervingly quiet, but that was to be expected. Nott was very good at what she did, and both Dairon and Essek both seemed as though they were very competent.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">The flaw with the plan, though, was that they did not have any way to communicate. Caleb had decided that to be checking his phone every five minutes would be too much of a giveaway, and had not dared remove it from his inner pocket. Even still, Nott knew not to send him a message. If she was worrying about telling Caleb things, then she would not be focused on the stealing of things.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">No, the only time when Caleb would know if they had been successful or not was when they met up once more on the way back to Kamordah. Until that time, the kitty-cat was both alive and dead. The heist existed in a state of superposition until they opened the box. At one point, there was a distant sort of clatter that could have come from upstairs, but Caleb was certain the he was the only one that noticed it.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">At least, that was what he thought.</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">It wasn’t until after dessert that the other shoe dropped. Caleb had just finished the last spoonful of an admittedly delicious <span>Pearlbow </span><span>gâteau</span><span>, the perfect balance of sweet and tart.</span></p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Trent excused himself from the table, giving Caleb a very long look as he did so. It was at that point, Caleb knew that the jig, as they said, was up, but it wasn’t until Trent returned that he understood why.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">
  <span>Trent had a smile on his face that made Caleb’s blood simultaneously freeze and boil. Standing at his side was Essek, who at least had the good grace to look ashamed.</span>
</p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western"> </p>
<p class="western">‘<span>Oh, Bren,’ Trent said, and the smile only grew. ‘You didn’t think it would be that easy did you?’</span></p>
  </div></div>
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